UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

QIFSX    OF" 

Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALS WORTH. 

Received  October,  1894. 
^Accessions  No .  JlTb'J  <?  -      Class  No . 


UHJ7BRSIT7 


Lil'c  Studies. 


f=r  -'    "•   v 

"—and  its  .sign  of  the  Rising  Sun." 


LIFE-STUDIES: 


OK, 


o  to    to    It  i  ir  t 


ILLTTSTBATED  IN  THE  BIOGRAPHIES  OP 

BUNYAN,  TERSTEEGEN,  MONTGOMERY, 
PERTHES,  AND  MRS.  WINSLOW. 

I 

BY  THE 

KEY.  JOHN  BAILLIE, 

M  7 

AUTHOR  OF  "  MEMOIRS   OF  HEWIT8ON,"  "ADELAIDE  NEWTON,"  ETC. 


4  He  hungereth  to  feed  on  facts." 


NEW  YORK: 

ROBERT    CARTER    &    BROTHERS. 
No.    530    BROADWAY. 


1860.^ 

JTr       0? 

TJHIVERS; 


B3 


STEBEOTYPEDBY  S.   B.   THOMSON,  PRINTED  BY 

THOMAS  B.   SMITH,  BINDER,  E.O.JENKINS 

82  A  84   Beeknmn-etreet.  82  &  84  Beekman-st.  26  Frankfort-st. 


PREFACE. 


How  TO  LIVE — how  to  dispose  worthily  of  that 
one  life  which  is  all  wherewith  each  of  us  has  to  faco 
Eternity — is  confessedly  the  gravest  problem  which 
a  sane  man  can  be  called  to  solve. 

A  lump  of  salt  is  dissolved  in  a  basin  of  water ; 
the  salt  is  gone,  but  its  savor  has  reached  the  remot- 
est atom  in  the  basin.  Our  ONE  LIFE  is  like  that 
lump  of  salt :  gradually  it  is  melting  away,  and  in  a 
brief  season  it  will  be  gone ;  but  its  savor  will  reach 
the  remotest  hour  in  the  Eternity  to  come. 

How  is  this  ONE  LIFE  to  be  lived?  Where  is' the 
POWER  which  shall  carry  me  victoriously  through  its 
struggle  1  It  will  not  do  to  take  me  to  the  monk's 
pillar,  or  to  the  hermit's  cell — you  must  show  me 
how  to'  go  up  to  life's  battle,  and  to  go  through  it, 
erect  and  unharmed. 

It  was  a  fable  of  the  ancients,  that  the 'god  who 
presided  over  each  river  had  his  residence  in  a  cavern 
at  its  source.  Is  not  the  fable  an  intense  realitv  in 


IV  PREFACE.  . 

each  man's  course  ?  Is  not  the  presiding  power  of 
each  man's  life  at  its  source  ?  It  is  of  no  use  to 
deliver  homilies  about  the  beauty  of  virtue  or  of 
self- sacrifice,  or  about  the  vanity  of  this  passing 
scene ;  men  go  from  such  homilies,  complacently  as 
before,  to  their  worldliness  or  to  their  sins.  There  is 
one  power,  and  only  one,  which  can  energize  the 
heart.  And  it  is  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  call 
up  certain  scenes  where  that  power  put  forth  its 
strength. 

"  I  want,"  said  a  young  corporal  one  day  to  Hed- 
ley  Vicars,  "  to  have  more  of  Jesus  in  this  life? 
CHRIST  CRUCIFIED  is  not  a  mere  fund  in  reserve — a 
kind  of  "  extreme  unction" — to  teach  men  how  to 
die ;  it  is  the  lever  which  is  to  move  the  life. 

The  savage,  in  certain  regions,  is  said  to  have  a 
belief  that  the  spirit  of  every  enemy  he  slays  passes 
into  his  own  bosom — giving  to  his  heart  new  cour- 
age, and  to  his  arm  new  power ;  and  therefore  his 
one  watchword  is — "  Slay,  slay,  slay !"  Is  it  not 
true  that  each  new  victory  we  gain  over  sin,  is  a  new 
accession  of  moral  power  ?  To  retire  from  life's  con- 
flicts, is  only  to  keep  the  passion  in  abeyance ;  to 
meet  the'  temptation  and  to  overcome,  is  that  by 
which  alone  we  "live." 

The  Christian  athletes  here  sketched  are  marked 


PREFACE.  V 

by  varying  idiosyncrasies ;  but  they  all  fought  man- 
fully the  good  fight,  and  they  all  have  gotten  tho 
victory.  God's  grace  "  is  manifold  ;"  and  it  may 
comfort  and  stimulate  the  wrestlers  in  the  various 
places  of  the  field  to  know  that  others  occupied  the 
post  before  them,  and  "  stood  in  the  evil  day." 

For  the  facts  in  the  following  Biographies,  we  are 
indebted  chiefly  to  existing  Memoirs.  And  we  shall 
feel  thankful  if  the  sketches  here  given  lead  to  a 
more  earnest  study  of  the  models  themselves. 


6  o  n  f  e  rj  f  s. 
i. 

SC  |j  *    (§000    Solbier: 
JOHN    BUM  VAN, 

II. 

|}  *    Christian    laborer: 
Gh  RHARD    T  E  RSTE  EGEN, 

III. 

|j*   Christian  Pan  of  Betters: 
JAMES    MONTGOMERY, 

IV. 

^e     pan    of    Business: 
FREDERICK    PERTH  ES, 

V. 

®Ij£    (ftljristian    Pother: 
MRS,    MARY    WIINSLOW, 


I. 


JOHN  BTJNYAN. 


1  Faith  may  rise  into  miracles  of  might" 


"All  my  springs  are  in  THEE." — Ps.  Ixxxvii.  7. 


"  Be  this,  then,  a  lesson  to  thy  soul,  that  thou  reckon 

nothing  worthless. 

Because  thou  heedest  not  its  use,  nor  knowest  the 
virtues  thereof." 


BUN Y AN  is  his  own  Pilgrim  embodied  into  life. 
"  God,"  says  he,  in  the  preface  to  his  Autobiogra- 
phy, "  did  not  play  in  tempting  of  me ;  neither  did 
I  play  when  I  sank  as  into  the  bottomless  pit — 
when  the  pangs  of  hell  caught  hold  upon  me : 
wherefore,"  he  adds,  "  I  may  not  play  in  relating  of 
them,  but  be  plain  and  simple,  and  lay  down  the 
thing  as  it  was."  His  "  fears,  and  doubts,  and  sad 
months,"  were  "  as  the  head  of  Goliath  in  his  hand ;" 
and  the  very  sight  and  remembrance  of  them,  like 
Goliath's  sword  to  David,  "did  preach  forth  God's 
deliverance  to  him."  . 

There  may  fall  upon  these  pages  the  eye  of  some 
tainting  "  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,"  whose  heart  will 
take  new  courage  as  he  communes  with  this  stalwart 
warrior. 


CHAPTEE  I. 


"My  thoughts  are  working  like  a  busy  flame, 
tin  til  their  cockatrice  they  hatch  and  bring." 


The  wayside  village— The  young  tinker— Book  of  Sports— Visions- 
Apprehensions— Hair-breadth  escapes— A  parallel— The  adder— The 
militiaman — Marriage. 

IN  one  of  our  wayside  English  villages,  with  its 
rustic  cross,  and  its  Maypole,  and  its  sign  of  the 
"  Rising  Sun,"  there  might  be  seen,  some  two  cen- 
turies ago,  of  an  evening  on  the  village  green,  a  band 
of  roystering  lads,  intent  on  certain  rude  sport.  The 
soul  of  the  frolic  is  a  broad-shouldered,  brawny 
youth,  with  piercing  eye  and  massive  forehead — 
born  a  tinker,  but  evidently  shaped  by  Nature  as  a 
future  "  king  of  men."  The  village  is  Elstow,  in  Bed- 
fordshire, and  the  young  tinker  is  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

The  times  are  loose — it  is  the  age  of  James  and  of 
his  "  Book  of  Sports ;"  and  the  villagers,  young  and  old, 
u  singing  and  saying  very  devoutly"  once  or  even  twice 
a  day  at  church  on  Sunday,  li  retain"  most  content- 
edly "  their  wicked  life."  Our  youthful  hero  falls  in 
with  the  prevailing  way — oaths  on  the  green,  and  a 
devout  "Amen"  in  the  Sunday-pew.  "It  was  my 
delight,"  he  tells  us,  "  to  be  led  captive  by  the  devil 
1* 


6  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

at  his  will.    I  had  few  equals,  both  for  cursing,  swear- 
ing, lying,  and  blaspheming  the  holy  name  of  God." 
And  these  are  no  mere  momentary  ebullitions, 
settled  and  rooted  was  I  in  these  things,"  says  he, 
"  that  they  became  a  kind  of  second  nature  to  me." 

But  it  is  not  all  sunshine.  Even  in  his  ninth  or 
tenth  year  he  is  scared  with  fearful  dreams  and 
ions.  Often,  after  "  spending  this  and  the  other  day 
in  sin,"  he  is  "greatly  afflicted,  while  asleep,  with 
the  apprehensions  of  devils  and  wicked  spirits,  com- 
ing to  draw  him  away  with  them."  And  his  waking 
hours  are  haunted  with  "  the  thoughts  of  the  fearful 
torments  of  hell-fire."  "  Oh,  that  I  were  a  devil !"  lu 
will  whisper  to  himself,  "  for  it  were  better  to  be  a 
tormentor,  than  to  be  tormented  myself!" 

Awakened  suddenly  one  night  in  his  hammock  by 
a  violent  sea  which  has  broken  over  the  crazy  ship, 
a  sailor-lad,  hastening  up  the  "  companion,"  is  met 
half-way  by  the  captain,  shouting  "  Bring  a  knife 
with  you — the  ship  is  going  down  1"  Returning  for 
the  knife,  he  is  succeeded  on  the  ladder  by  another, 
who,  the  moment  he  reaches  the  deck,  is  washed 
overboard.  There  is  no  time  to  lament  him ;  and  all 
hands  labor  at  the  pump,  expecting  every  moment 
to  be  the  last.  As  the  day  brightens,  and  the  sea 
calms  down  a  litttle,  the  lad  endeavors,  with  an  ill- 
disguised  uneasiness,  to  cheer  one  of  the  sailors  with 
the  prospect  that  in  a  few  days  this  distress  will  serve 
them  "  to  talk  of  over  a  glass  of  wine."  "  No,"  re- 
plies the  other,  with  tears  in  his  eyes ;  "  it  is  too  late 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  7 

now."  But,  after  other  four-and -twenty  hours  of 
pumping,  the  peril  passes  by,  and  another  of  his 
"  deaths  oft"  is  over.  The  lad  is  the  future  John 
Newton,  of  Olney. 

Bunyan  also,  in  these  days  of  his  ungodliness,  has 
many  hair's-breadth  escapes.  Once,  "  falling  into  a 
creek  of  the  sea,"  he  "hardly  escapes  drowning." 
Another  time  he  is  precipitated  from  a  boat  into  the 
Ouse  ;  but  "  mercy  preserves  him  alive."  On  a  third 
occasion,  being  in  the  field  with  one  of  his  compan- 
ions, an  adder  chances  to  pass  over  the  highway ; 
and,  "  having  a  stick  in  his  hand,"  he  "  strikes  her 
over  the  back ;"  the  animal  is  "  stunned,"  and  he 
"  forces  open  her  mouth  with  his  stick,  and  plucks 
her  sting  out  with  his  fingers."  And  still  another 
escape  he  mentions.  Now,  in  his  seventeenth  year, 
and  having  enlisted  as  a  soldier  during  the  civil  war, 
he  is  "  drawn  out  to  go  to  the  siege  of  Leicester," 
and  is  just  on  the  eve  of  starting,  when  one  of  the 
company  desires  to  go  in  his  room.  "  He  took  my 
place,"  says  he ;  "  and  coming  to  the  siege,  as  he 
stood  sentinel,  he  was  shot  in  the  head  with  a  mus- 
ket-bullet, and  died." 

.  But  these  "judgments  mixed  with  mercy"  do  not 
"  awaken  his  soul  to  righteousness."  He  "  sins  still, 
and  grows  more  and  more  rebellious  against  God, 
and  careless  of  his  own  salvation." 

A  few  years  pass  over ;  and  he  leaves  the  army, 
and  gets  married.  "  Though  we  came  together,"  he 
tells  us,  "  as  poor  as  poor  might  be,  not  having  so 


8  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

much  household  stuff  as  a  dish  or  spoon  betwixt  us 
both,  yet  this  she  had  for  her  part — 'The  Plain 
Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven,'  and  '  The  Practice  of 
Piety,'  which  her  father  had  left  her  when  he  died." 
These  two  volumes  are  read,  and  re-read ;  and  an- 
other bock  is  read — the  "  living  epistle"  of  her  godly 
father's  life.  The  result  is,  "  a  desire  to  reform  his 
vicious  life,  and  to  fall  in  very  eagerly  with  the  re- 
ligion  of  the  times." 


CHAPTER  II. 


"  Full  of  rebellion,  I  would  die, 
Or  fight,  or  travel,  or  deny 
That  thou  hast  aught  to  do  with  me. 

Oh,  turn  my  heart ! 
It  is  thy  highest  art 
To  captivate  strongholds  to  thee." 


Superstition — New  awakening — "  Game  at  cat" — The  voice  from  hea- 
ven— "Too  late" — The  reproof— Legal  workings — Self-complacency— 
The  church-bells — Strivings — The  three  poor  saints — Living  epistles 
— "  Dwelt  alone" — Evangelist. 

"  MAN,"  it  has  been  said,  "  with  sinuous  ease,  es- 
capes from  lie  to  lie."  Earnest  hitherto  in  worldliness, 
the  tinker  is  now  scarcely  less  earnest  in  "  credulities 
of  weakness."  At  church  "  with  the  foremost,"  he  is 
u  overrun  with  a  spirit  of  superstition,"  adoring  with 
great  devotion  "the  high-place,  priest,  clerk,  vest- 
ment, service,  and  what  else ;"  counting  all  things 
holy  that  are  therein  contained,  and  especially  the 
priest  and  clerk  most  happy,  and,  without  doubt, 
greatly  blessed,  because  they  are  servants,  and  are 
principal,  in  the  holy  temple,  to  do  His  work  therein." 

Cowper  has  written — 

"  For  though  the  Pope  has  lost  his  interest  here, 
And  pardons  are  not  sold  as  once  they  were, 
No  papist's  more  desirous  -to  compound 
Than  some  grave  sinners  upon  English  ground." 


10  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

Banyan's  whole  soul  is  now  intent  on  this  work. 
So  strong  in  a  little  while  does  the  feeling  grow 
upon  him,  that,  does  he  but  "  see  a  priest  though 
never  so  sordid  and  debauched  in  his  lift*,"  he  will 
u  find  his  spirit  fall  under  him,  reverence  him,  and 
knit  unto  him  ;  yea,  for  the  love  he  bears  unto  them, 
supposing  them  the  ministers  of  God,  he  feols  as  if 
he  could  lie  down  at  their  feet,  and  be  trampled  on 
by  them  ;  their  name,  their  garb,  and  work,  do  so 
intoxicate  and  bewitch  him." 

Once  more,  however,  he  is  awakened  to  a  crush- 
ing sense  of  sin.  All  this  while,  he  has  "  kept  ironi 
considering,  that,  what  religion  soever  he  follows, 
sin  will  damn  him  unless  he  be  'found  in  Christ.'" 
But  one  day  a  sermon  on  Sabbath-breaking  startles 
him ;  he  "  falls  in  his  conscience  under  it,"  and  goes 
home  "  with  a  great  burden  upon  his  spirit." 

The  "  trouble"  threatens  to  "  benumb  the  sinews 
of  his  best  delights ;"  but,  before  he  was  well  dined, 
it  begins  to  wear  off,  and  that  evening  he  is  at  his 
old  sport  on  the  village  green,  "  solacing  himself 
therewith."  The  arrow,  however,  is  not  gone.  He 
is  '*  in  the  midst  of  a  game  of  Cat,"  and  is  just  about 
to  u  strike  it  a  second  blow  from  the  hole,"  when 
suddenly  a  voice  darts  from  heaven  into  his  soul  say- 
ing, "  Wilt  thou  leave  thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or 
have  thy  sins  and  go  to  hell  ?"  At  this  he  is  "  put  to 
an  exceeding  maze,"  the  Lord  Jesus  seeming  to 
u  look  down  upon  him  from  heaven  in  hot  displeas- 
ure." llis  heart  sinks  within  him.  It  is  now  "  too 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  11 

late  for  him  to  look  after  heaven."  Christ  will  never 
forgive  him  ;  and,  concluding  he  may  "  as  well  be 
damned  for  many  sins  as  for  few,"  he  "  rushes  despe- 
rately to  his  sport  again,"  fearing  lest  he  should  die 
before  he  gets  his  "  fill  of  sin." 

One  of  our  poets  has  described  "sin's  round," 
thus : — 

"  My  words  take  fire  from  my  inflamed  thoughts, 
Which  spit  it  forth  like  the  Sicilian  hell." 

Standing  one  afternoon  at  a  neighbor's  shop-window, 
he  begins  to  "  curse  and  swear  and  play  the  mad- 
man" after  such  a  fashion,  that  the  woman  of  the 
house,  overhearing  him,  comes  out,  and,  though  her- 
self "  a  very  loose  and  ungodly  wretch,"  protests  that 
it  "makes  her  tremble  to  hear  him."  "You're 
enough,"  she  adds,  "  to  spoil  all  the  youth  of  the 
town,  if  they  come  but  in  your  company."  At  this 
reproof  he  is  "silenced;"  and  he  hangs  down  his 
head,  u  wishing  with  all  his  heart  he  were  a  little 
child  again,  that  his  father  might  teach  him  to  speak 
without  swearing." 

The  swearing  is  now  abandoned,  so  that  "  it  is  a 
wonder  to  himself  to  observe  it."  And  the  conver- 
sation of  "  one  poor  man,"  who  "  did  talk  pleasantly 
of  the  Scriptures,"  leads  him  to  "his  BiM<?,"  which 
he  "  begins  to  take  great  pleasure  in  reading,  espe- 
cially the  historical  part  thereof;" — though,  "as  for 
Paul's  Epistles  and  such-like  Scriptures,"  he  "  can- 
not away  with  them — being  as  yet  ignorant,  either 


12  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

of  the  corruptions  of  his  nature,  or  of  the  want  and 
worth  of  Jesus  Christ  to  save  him." 

A  new  enterprise  now  engages  him.  UI  fell," 
says  he,  "  to  some  outward  reformation,  both  in  my 
words  and  in  my  life,  and  did  set  the  commandments 
before  me  for  my  way  to  heaven ;  which  command- 
ments I  also  did  strive  to  keep,  and,  as  I  thought, 
did  keep  them  pretty  well  sometimes,  and  then  I 
would  have  comfort ;  yet  now  and  then  {should  break 
one,  and  so  afflict  my  conscience  :  but  then  I  would 
repent,  and  say  I  was  sorry  for  it,  and  would  promise 
God  to  do  better  next  time,  and  there  get  help  again ; 
for  then  I  thought  I  pleased  God  as  well  as  any 
man  in  England." 

This  process  continues  for  about  a  year,  all  which 
time  his  neighbors  "  take  him  to  be  a  very  godly 
man — a  new  and  religious  man,  manvllinir  much  to 
see  such  great  and  famous  alteration  in  his  life  and 
manners."  And  great  is  his  self-complacency  as  he 
hears  the  people's  comments  on  him.  "  Now,"  says 
he,  "  they  began  to  praise,  to  commend,  and  to  speak 
well  of  me,  both  to  my  face  and  behind  my  back. 
Now  I  was,  as  they  said,  become  godly ;  now  I  was 
become  a  right  honest  man.  But  oh  !  when  I  un- 
derstood those  were  their  words  and  opinions  of  me, 
it  pleased  me  mighty  well.  For,  though  as  yet  I 
was  nothing  but  a  poor  painted  hypocrite,  yet  I 
loved  to  be  talked  of  as  one  that  was  truly  godly.  I 
was  proud  of  my  godliness." 

But  the  conscience  is  not  at  rest.     He  has  "  taken 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  13 

much  delight  in  ringing  the  church  bells  ;"  but  now 
he  "  begins  to  think,  How  if  one  of  them  should 
fall?"  For  safety,  he  first  "  chooses  to  stand  under 
a  main  beam  which  lay  athwart  the  steeple  ;"  but 
"  then,"  says  he,  "  I  thought  again  should  the  bell 
fall  with  a  swing,  it  might  first  hit  the  wall,  and 
then,  rebounding  upon  me,  might  kill  me,  for  all 
this  beam.r  He  next  "  stands  in  the  steeple-door," 
thinking  now  he  is  safe  enough ;  for,  if  the  bell 
should  fall,  he  can  "  slip  out  behind  those  thick 
walls."  But  standing  there  one  day,  "  it  comes  into 
his  head,  How  if  the  steeple  itself  should  fall  ?"  And 
"  this  thought  continually  so  shakes  his  mind,  that 
he  dares  not  stand  at  the  steeple-door  any  longer,  but 
is  forced  to  flee." 

These  are  real,  not  imaginary  fears.  "  Poor  wretch 
that  I  was,"  he  says,  "I  was  all  this  while  going 
about  to  establish  my  own  righteousness  ;  and  I  had 
perished  therein,  had  not  God  in  mercy  showed  me 
more  of  my  state  by  nature.  If  I  had  died  thus,  my 
state  had  been  most  fearful." 

A  better  day,  however,  is  now  to  dawn.  Saunter- 
ing, one  morning,  along  a  street  in  Bedford,  in  pur- 
suit of  his  calling  as  a  tinker,  he  stumbles  upon 
"  three  or  four  poor  women  sitting  at  a  door,  in  the 
sun,  talking  of  the  things  of  God."  John  stands  still, 
and  listens.  "  Their  talk  is  about  a  new  birth,  the 
work  of  God  in  their  hearts,  as  also  how  they  were 
convinced  of  their  miserable  state  by  nature  ;  they 
tell  how  God  has  visited  their  souls  with  His  love  ia 
2 


14  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

the  Lord  Jesus ;  moreover,  they  reason  of  the  sug- 
gestions and  temptations  of  Satan,  and  tell  to  each 
other  by  what  means  they  have  been  afflicted,  and 
how  they  were  borne  up  under  his  assaults.  They 
also  discourse  of  their  own  wretchedness  of  heart, 
and  of  their  unbelief,  contemning,  slighting,  and  ab- 
horring their  own  righteousness,  as  filthy  and  insuffi- 
cient to  do  them  any  good." 

This  is  a  new  region  to  him.  "  I  heard,"  says  he, 
"  but  understood  not ;  for  they  were  far  above,  out 
of  my  reach."  And  yet  there  is  something  about 
these  humble  Christians  which  bespeaks  an  intense 
reality.  u  Methought,"  says  Bunyan,  "  they  spake  as 
if  joy  did  make  them  speak ;  they  spake  with  such 
pleasantness  of  Scripture  language,  and  with  such 
appearance  of  grace  in  all  they  said,  that  they  were 
to  me  as  if  they  had  found  a  new  world — as  if  they 
were  '  people  that  dwelt  alone.'  " 

The  result  is,  a  harrowing  of  soul  such  as  he  has 
not  yet  known.  His  heart  "  begins  to  shake ;"  for 
he  sees  that,  in  all  his  thoughts  "  about  religion  and 
salvation,"  the  new  birth  has  never  entered  into  his 
mind.  He  goes  to  his  employment,  but  his  heart 
"  tarries  with  them  ;"  and  often  he  "  makes  it  his 
business  to  be  going  again  and  again  into  their  com- 
pany," being  greatly  affected  with  their  words,  both 
because  he  has  been  convinced  by  them  that  he 
"  wants  the  tokens  of  a  truly  godly  man,"  and  also 
because  they  have  taught  him  "  the  happy  and 
blessed  condition  of  him  that  is  such  an  one." 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  15 

These  three  poor  saints  are  his  "Evangelist,"  at 
once  deepening  his  convictions  of  sin,  and  pointing 
him  hopefully  to  the  wicket-gate  and  to  the  cross. 
"  A  very  great  softness  and  tenderness  of  heart,"  he 
says,  u  now  came  upon  me,  so  that  it  lay  like  a  horse- 
leech at  the  vein,  still  crying  out,  '  Give,  give  !'  I 
was  so  fixed  on  eternity,  that  neither  pleasures,  nor 
profits,  nor  persuasions,  nor  threats,  could  loose  me  or 
make  me  let  go  my  hold." 


CHAPTER    III. 


"Hast  thou  seen  the  ripening  rosebud  reach  the  beauty  of  the  flower? 
Marked  the  summer  cloud-streaks  gather  till  they  bring  the  drench- 
ing shower  ?" 

The  grey  dawn — "  Read  Bible  with  new  eyes" — The  sunken  rock — 
Test  of  faith— The  miracle — Waking  vision— The  mountain— Two 
sides — The  narrow  gap — Temptations — "Elected?" — "Day  of  grace 
past  ?"— Yet  room— Broad  seal  of  heaven. 


HERBERT,  in  one  of  his  Odes,  has  written — 

"  Of  what  an  easy,  quick  access, 
My  blessed  Lord,  art  thou !  how  suddenly 

May  our  requests  thine  ear  invade ! 
If  I  but  lift  mine  eyes,  my  suit  is  made : 
Thou  canst  no  more  not  hear,  than  thou  canst  die." 

And  Bunyan  is,  one  day,  to  comprehend  this  truth, 
and  to  delineate  it  with  a  matchless  pathos  in  the 
scene  at  the  Cross.  But,  as  yet,  it  is  only  the  grey 
dawn  of  day. 

The  dawn,  however,  is  gradually  brightening ;  and 
from  the  Word  the  cheering  beams  shine.  "  Now, 
me  thought,"  he  says,  "  I  looked  into  the  Bible  with 
new  eyes,  and  read  as  I  never  read  before ;  and 
especially  the  epistles  of  Paul  were  sweet  and  pleas- 
ant to  me."  He  is  "  never  out  of  the  Bible,  either 
by  reading  or  by  meditation — still  crying  out  to 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  17 

God,  that  he  may  know  the  truth,  and  the  way  to 
heaven  and  glory." 

Like  many  earnest  souls  at  this  stage,  he  is  driven 
upon  the  rocks  of  inward  frames.  This  always  "  is 
running  in  his  mind.  *  But  how  if  I  want  faith  ?  how 

O  ' 

can  I  tell  I  have  faith  ?'  "  Travelling  one  afternoon 
from  Elstow  to  Bedford,  "  the  temptation  is  hot" 
upon  him  to  say  to  "  the  puddles  in  the  horsepads, 
'  Be  dry  ;'  and  to  the  dry  places,  '  Be  you  puddles !'  " 
If  he  can  work  the  miracle,  it  will  prove  he  "  has 
faith  indeed."  But,  just  as  he  is  about  to  speak,  the 
thought  comes  into  his  mind, — "  But  go  under  yon- 
der hedge  and  pray  first,  that  God  would  make  you 
able."  And  another  thought  "  comes  hot"  upon  him 
— "  What  if  I  pray,  and  try  to  do  it,  and  yet  do 
nothing,  notwithstanding  ?  then  to  be  sure  I  have  no 
faith,  but  am  a  castaway,  and  am  lost." 

Grotesque  as  this  appears,  is  it  not  in  substance 
the  method  adopted  by  "  fearful"  souls  to  ascertain 
their  standing  before  God  ?  They  do  not  command 
the  "  puddles"  to  become  dry  ground,  or  wait  for 
the  "  troubling"  of  the  Bethesda  pool ; — but  do  not 
they  look  into  the  "  waters"  of  their  own  inward 
frames,  and,  according  as  these  waters  are  "  troubled" 
or  stagnant,  are  not  they  joyous  or  joyless  ? 

A  kind  of  waking  vision  opens  to  him  a  glimpse 
of  the  way  of  life.  The  poor  saints  of  Bedford  he 
sees  one  day  as  if  on  the  sunny  side  of  some  high 
mountain,  refreshing  themselves  with  the  pleasant 
beams  of  the  sun  ;  while  he  himself  is  shivering  and 


18  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

shrinking  in  the  cold,  afflicted  with  frost,  snow,  and 
dark  clouds.  "  Methought,  also,"  he  says,  "  betwixt 
me  and  them  I  saw  a  wall,  which  did  compass  about 
this  mountain.  Now,  through  this  wall,  my  soul  did 
greatly  desire  to  pass — concluding  that,  if  1  could,  I 
would  even  go  into  the  midst  of  them,  and  there  also 
comfort  myself  with  the  heat  of  their  sun."  But  is 
there  a  way  through  the  wall  ?  After  a  long  search, 
at  last  he  discovers  "a  narrow  gap,  like  a  little  door- 
way, very  straight,  and  narrow."  He  labors  to  get 
in,  but  in  vain — even  until  he  is  "  well-nigh  quite 
beat  out."  At  length,  with  great  striving,  he  at  first 
gets  in  his  head,  and  then,  "  by  a  sideling  striving," 
his  "  shoulders,  and  his  whole  body."  Exceeding 
glad,  he  goes  and  sits  down  in  the  midst  of  them,  and 
so  is  "comforted  with  the  light  and  heat  of  their  sun." 

o 

The  vision  is  thus  "  made  out"  to  him  :  The 
mountain  is  the  living  Church  ;  the  sun  which  shone 
upon  it,  "  the  comfortable  shining  of  God's  merciful 
face  on  them  that  are  therein  ;"  the  wall  is  that  which 
t:  does  make  separation  betwixt  the  Christians  and 
the  world  ;"  and  the  gap  in  the  wall  is  "  Jesus  Christ, 
the  way  to  God  the  Father — 4I  am  the  way,  and  the 
truth,  and  the  life ;  no  man  cometh  to  the  Father 
but  by  me.' "  And,  "  forasmuch  as  the  passage  was 
wonderful  narrow,"  it  shows  him  that  none  can  enter 
life  but  those  who  are  in  downright  earnest,  and  un- 
less also  they  leave  that  wicked  world  behind  them ; 
for  here  is  only  room  for  body  and  soul,  but  not  for 
body,  and  soul,  and  sin. 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  19 

Still  he  does  not  personally  "  sit  in  the  sunshine." 
One  temptation  besets  him,  and  then  another,  and 
another.  "  Am  I  elected  ?"  at  times  so  "  offends  and 
discourages"  him,  that,  though  he  is  "  in  a  flame  to 
find  the  way  to  heaven  and  glory,  and  though  noth- 
ing can  beat  him  off,"  he  is  "  as  if  the  very  strength 
of  his  body  also  were  taken  away  by  the  force  and 
power  thereof." 

u  You  had  as  good  leave  off,"  whispers  Satan  to 
him  one  day,  "  and  strive  no  further  ;  for  if,  indeed, 
you  should  not  be  elected  and  chosen  of  God,  there 
is  no  hope  of  your  being  saved  ;  '  for  it  is  not  of  him 
that  willeth,  nor  of  him  that  runneth,  but  of  God 
that  showeth  mercy.' " 

Driven  to  his  wits1  end,  he  is  "  ready  to  sink  where 
he  is,  with  faintness  of  mind."  But  one  night,  as  he 
is  now  "  quite  giving  up  the  ghost  of  all  his  hopes 
of  ever  attaining  life,"  the  thought  occurs  to  him — 
"  Begin  at  the  beginning  of  Genesis,  and  read  to  the 
end  of  the  Revelation,  and  see  if  you  can  find  that 
there  were  ever  any  that  trusted  in  the  Lord  and 
were  confounded."  That  thought  "doth  still  oft- 
times,"  he  says,  "  shine  before  my  face." 

Another  temptation  tries  him — "  How  if  the  day 
of  grace  should  now  be  past  and  gone  ?  How  if  you 
have  overstood  the  time  of  mercy?"  He  goes  up 
and  down,  bemoaning  his  sad  condition,  counting 
himself  "  far  worse  than  a  thousand  fools  for  standing 
off  thus  long,  and  spending  so  many  years  in  sin." 
"  Oh  !"  he  cries,  "  that  I  had  turned  sooner  !  Oh, 


20  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

that  I  turned  seven  years  ago  !'*  For  many  days  he 
is  "  vexed  with  this  fear,"  until  he  is  "  scarce  able  to 
take  one  step  more."  At  length,  however,  these 
words  break  in  upon  his  mind — "  Compel  them  to 
come  in,  that  my  house  may  be  filled ;"  and  u  yet  the;  e 
is  room."  There  must  still  be  place  enough  in  heaven 
for  him ;  for  did  not  the  Lord  Jesus,  in  speaking 
these  words,  think  individually  of  him  ?  This  he 
"  verily  believes."  And  the  comfort  is  the  greater, 
that  the  Lord  should  have  thought  of  him  so  long 
ago,  and  should  have  spoken  those  words  on  purpose 
for  his  sake. 

And  another  temptation  besets  him — to  "  return 
again  to  his  old  ways."  But  one  thought  at  such 
moments  always  outweighs  every  other — "that  sound 
sense  of  death,  and  of  the  day  of  judgment,  which 
abides,  as  it  were,  continually  in  his  view." 

Is  it  not  the  want  of  this  "  sound  sense  of  a  com- 
ing judgment"  which  encumbers  the  Church  with  so 
many  loiterers,  and  so  many  lookers-back  ? 

"  I  sum  up  half  mankind, 
And  add  two-thirds  to  the  remaining  halfj 
And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fears 
Dreams,  empty  dreams." 

The  Church  in  Sodom  consisted  of  four  members  : 
of  these  how  many  were  true  souls  ? 

The  goodly  tents  of  Israel  grow  gradually  more 
attractive  in  his  eyes.  How  "  lovely"  now  is  "  every 
one  that  he  thinks  to  be  converted,  whether  man  or 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  21 

woman  !  They  shine  ;  they  walk  like  a  people  who 
carry  the  broad  seal  of  heaven  about  them."  Christ 
"  called  unto  Him  whom  He  would."  Never  does 
he  read  of  any  whom  Christ  called  but  he  presently 
wishes — "  Would  I  had  been  in  their  clothes  !  would 
I  had  been  born  Peter !  would  I  had  been  born 
John  !  or,  would  I  had  been  by  and  had  heard  Him, 
when  He  called  them  !  how  would  I  have  cried,  *  0 
Lord,  call  me  also  !'  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Hast  thou  watched  the  dawn  of  sunlight  brighten  into  perfect  day? 
Seen  the  rippled  waves  of  ocean  lashed  to  surf,  and  foam,  and  spray  ?* 

The  Bedford  centurion— The  escape— The  gaming-table— "Great 
peace" — The  pastor — Interviews — Two  wonders — Inward  pollution 
—The  cross—"  My  love"— Best. 

THERE  lived  at  that  time  in  Bedford  a  minister  of 
God's  Word,  who  had  passed  through  a  strange  bap- 
tism. Originally  a  major  in  the  army,  and  a  devoted 
royalist,  he  had  been  apprehended  with  eleven  others, 
and  been  sentenced  to  death.  It  is  the  eve  of  the 
fatal  day,  and  his  sister  comes  in  to  bid  him  a  last 
farewell.  The  guard  is  asleep,  and  his  companions 
are  intoxicated.  "  Why  not,"  she  whispers,  as  she 
enters  the  cell,  "  escape  instantly  for  your  life  ?" 
Cautiously  stealing  his  way  out,  he  lies  concealed  for 
three  days  in  the  bottom  of  a  great  ditch,  and  then 
flies  in  disguise  to  London. 

After  a  while,  returning  to  Bedford,  he  bethinks 
him  of  venturing  upon  the  practice  of  physic.  One 
night,  at  the  gaming-table,  having  lost  a  considerable 
sum,  he  is  plunged  into  the  most  horrible  profane- 
ness,  raging  at  the  providence  of  God,  and  threaten- 
ing to  put  an  end  to  his  life.  He  gains  his  OWD 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  23 

chamber ;  and,  as  lie  sits  solitary  and  in  despair,  a 
sentence  catches  his  eye,  in  a  book  lying  open  on  the 
table.  Conscience  is  smitten,  and  for  a  month  he 
has  no  rest.  But  at  length  the  way  of  forgiveness 
through  the  atoning  blood  of  Christ  comes  home  to 
him  so  sweetly  and  so  forcefully,  that  his  whole  soul 
is  filled  with  joy  and  peace ;  so  that,  for  "  five  years 
together,  he  never  loses  for  one  hour  the  comfortable 
light  of  God's  countenance." 

Like  Saul  of  Tarsus,  he  "  assays  to  join  himself  to 
the  disciples ;"  but  so  notorious  has  been  his  enmity 
to  serious  godliness,  and  also  so  exceedingly  vile  his 
life,  that  only  a  warm  attachment  and  a  naturally 
bold  spirit  secured  for  him  a  place  in  their  fellow- 
ship. Beginning,  however,  bye  and  bye  to  speak 
the  Word  of  God — at  first  in  private,  and  afterwards 
more  publicly — John  Gifford  is  attended  with  so  re- 
markable a  blessing,  that  the  people  with  one  consent 
choose  him  as  their  pastor ;  and  he  gives  himself  up 
to  serve  them  in  the  Gospel  of  His  Son. 

Among-  the  humble  flock  of  this  true  minister  are 

o 

the  "  three  poor  women."  Breaking  his  mind  one 
day  to  these  saints,  Bunyan  is  named  by  them  to  Mr. 
Gifford.  After  a  private  interview  with  him,  he  in- 
vites him  repeatedly  to  his  house,  to  hear  him  "'con- 
fer with  others  about  the  dealings  of  God  with  their 
souls."  The  result  is,  a  deeper  conviction  of  "the 
vanity  and  inward  wretchedness  of  his  wicked  heart" 
— his  inward  exercises  being  only  "  as  a  clog  on  the 
leg  of  a  bird,  to  hinder  it  from  flying." 


24  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

Yet  the  case  is  not  so  desperate  as  to  himself  it 
seems. 

"  Fractures  well  cured,  make  us  more  strong." 

lie  who  has  been  "  breaking"  these  "  bones"  is  pre- 
paring for  the  troubled  man  a  firm  and  lasting  joy. 
But  Satan  does  not  willingly  let  go  such  a  prey. 
The  tinker  is  like  the  child  brought  to  Christ,  who, 
"  while  he  was  yet  coming  to  Him,  was  thrown  down 
by  the  devil,  and  also  so  rent  and  torn  by  him  that 
he  lay  and  wallowed,  foaming." 

Drawing  nearer  into  God's  own  light,  he  sees 
things  now  more  in  their  true  proportions.  Two 
things  especially  often  make  him  wonder.  The  one 
is,  .when  he  finds  "  old  people  hunting  after  the  things 
of  this  life,  as  if  they  should  live  here  always ;"  the 
other  is,  when  he  sees  "  professors  much  distressed 
and  cast  down  when  they  meet  with  outward  losses." 
"  Lord,  thought  I,  what  ado  is  here  about  such  little 
things  as  these !  What  seeking  after  carnal  things 
by  some,  and  what  grief  in  others  for  the  loss  of 
them !" 

And  another  reality  which  grows  more  vivid  to 
him  is  his  "  original  and  inward  pollution."  He  "  sees 
it  at  a  dreadful  rate ;"  it  is  always  "  putting  itself 
forth  within  him,"  and  he  "  has  the  guilt  of  it  to 
amazement."  He  feels  as  if  none  but  the  devil  him- 
self could  "  equalize  him  for  inward  wickedness  and 
pollution  of  mind;"  sin  and  corruption  as  naturally 
bubble  out  of  his  heart  as  water  out  of  a  fountain 


JOHN    BUN Y AN.  25 

He  is  "  more  loathesome  in  bis  own  eyes  than  a  toad ;" 
and  he  "  thinks  he  is  so  in  God's  eyes,  too."  And 
yet  "  this  sight  and  sense  of  terror  of  his  own  wick- 
edness he  is  afraid  to  let  go  quite  off  his  mind  ;"  for 
he  finds  that,  "  unless  guilt  of  conscience  be  taken  off 
in  the  right  way,  that  is,  by  the  blood  of  Christ,"  a 
man  "  grows  rather  worse  for  the  loss  of  his  trouble 
of  mind." 

But  God's  "  comforting  time"  is  now  come. 

"  Sweeten  at  length  this  bitter  bowl, 

Which  thou  hast  poured  into  my  soul: 
Thy  wormwood  turn  to  health ;  winds  to  fair  weather." 

Now  in  sight  of  the  Cross,  he  begins  to  lift  up  hope- 
fully and  expectingly  this  prayer. 

One  day,  in  the  humble  meeting,  a  preacher  is 
discoursing  most  tenderly  of  Christ's  grace  to  sinners. 
Bunyan  is  there ;  and  two  simple  words*  fix  them- 
selves in  his  mind,  and  reach  his  bleeding  heart. 

'  O 

"  What !"  he  thinks, "  /  loved  by  Him  when  loveless ! 
loved  without  a  cause !  loved,  though  despised  by 
the  world  !  loved,  when  tempted  and  self-destroyed !" 
And  as  he  saunters  homewards,  the  words  u  twenty 
times  together  kindle  in  his  spirit,"  until,  "waxing 
stronger  and  warmer,"  they  "begin  to  make  him 
look  up." 

Days  pass  on,  and  the  "Word  over  and  over 
again  makes  this  joyful  noise  within  his  soul — 
*  Thou  art  my  love  ;  thou  art  my  love  ;  and  nothing 

*  "  My  love."— Song  of  Sol.,  iv.  1.       , 
3 


26  /THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

shall  separate  thee  from  my  love.'"  His  heart  is 
now  "  filled  full  of  comfort  and  hope  ;"  now  he  u  can 
believe  that  his  sins  will  be  for<riven  him."  And  so 

o 

taken  is  he  with  the  love  and  mercy  of  God,  that  he 
feels  as  if  he  "  could  speak  of  it  to  the  very  crows 
which  sit  upon  the  ploughed  land  by  the  wayside, 
were  they  capable  to  understand  him." 

It  is  the  "  pilgrim"  gazing  at  the  Crucified,  until 
his  burden  sinks  into  the  open  grave,  and  until  the 
tear  of  lowly  thankfulness  glistens  in  his  beaming 
And  now  he  can  sin  with  his  own  Pilrim  — 


"  Thus  far  did  I  oorae  laden  with  my  sin  ; 
Nor  could  aught  ease  the  burden  I  was  in 
Till  I  came  hither  :  what  a  place  is  this  1 
Must  here  be  the  beginning  of  my  bliss  ? 
Must  here  the  burden  fall  from  off  my  back  ? 
Must  here  the  strings  that  bound  it  to  me  crack  ? 
Blest  cross  !  blest  sepulchre  I  blest  rather  be 
The  MAN  that  there  was  put  to  shame  for  mel" 


CHAPTEK  V. 


"  Sin  being  gone,  oh !  fill  the  place, 
And  keep  possession,  as  with  thy  grace." 


The  house  Beautiful  and  the  conflict— Apoliy on— " A  very  great 
storm"—"  A  thousand  pounds  for  a  tear "— "  Alone,  alone !" 
— "I  will  cool  you"— The  sword— "A  good  word"— "A  sweet 
glance" — A  wayside  musing — Fireside  message — Eight  mind — 
Faithful— Mr.  Gilford—"  Former  and  latter  rain." 

"  THE  Church  militant,"  it  has  been  said,  "  inherits 
the  condition  of  Jesus  Christ."  It  endures  His  con- 
flict ;  otherwise  it  is  not  the  Church. 

And  each  member  of  the  body  has  the  same  con- 
flict ;  so  that,  if  suddenly  the  Church  were  reduced 
to  one  living  person,  "  nothing  would  be  changed 
but  the  number" — that  one  individual  would  "fill 
up  that  which  is  behind  of  his  afflictions."  The 
same  conflict,  therefore,  awaits  Christ's  good  soldier. 
In  Christ's  afflictions,  what  feature  more  marked  than 
His  conflict  with  the  tempter  ! 

Before  the  Pilgrim  met  Apoliy  on,  he  had  been 
"  harnessed  from  head  to  foot"  with  armor.  Bunyan 
himself  is  less  fully  girded. 

A  presentiment,  indeed,  of  coming  peril  is  not 
wanting.  "  About  a  week  or  a  fortnight  after  this," 
he  tells  us,  "  I  was  much  followed  by  that  Scripture, 


28  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  : 

*  Simon,  Simon,  behold,  Satan  hath  desired  to  have 
you  ;'  and  sometimes  it  would  sound  as  loud  within 
me,  yea,  and  as  it  were  call  so  strongly  after  me, 
that  once,  above  all  the  rest,  I  turned  my  head  over 
my  shoulder,  thinking  verily  that  some  one  behind 
had  called  me.  It  came,  as  I  have  thought  since, 
to  stir  me  up  to  prayer  and  watchfulness — to  ac- 
quaint me  that  a  cloud  and  a  storm  were  coming 
down  upon  me." 

But  he  "  understands  it  not."  And  so,  ere  long, 
"  a  very  great  storm"  does  come  down.  Deep  calls 
to  deep ;  darkness  seizes  upon  him ;  blasphemous 
suggestions  "  do  so  overweigh  his  heart,  both  with 
their  number,  continuance,  and  fiery  force,  that  he 
feels  as  if  God  has  given  him  up  to  them,  to  be  car- 
ried away  by  them  as  by  a  mighty  whirlwind." 

The  temptation  lasts  "  about  a  year."  Fearing  at 
times  that  he  may  have  committed  the  sin  against 
the  Holy  Ghost,  he  "  envies  the  condition  of  the  dog 
and  of  the  toad;"  counting  "the  estate  of  everything 
that  God  has  made  far  better  than  this  dreadful  state 
of  mind."  His  heart,  too,  is  so  "  exceeding  hard,  that, 
if  he  should  give  a  thousand  pounds  for  a  tear,  he 
cannot  shed  one;  no,  nor  sometimes  scarce  desire 
to  shed  one."  Some  he  sees,  who  can  mourn  and 
lament  their  sin ;  others  who  can  rejoice  and  bless 
God  for  Christ ;  and  others  again,  who  can  quietly 
talk  of  and  gladly  remember  the  Word  of  God  :  but 
he  himself  is  only  in  the  "  storm  and  tempest,"  and 
there,  as  he  thinks,  alone — 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  29 

"  Alone,  alone — in  the  world  alone ; 
Pacing  the  desert  wild." 

And  yet  not  alone  !  The  devil  will  be  u  continu- 
ally at  him  in  time  of  prayer,  to  have  done — to 
break  off."  "  Make  haste,"  he  will  whisper  to  him  ; 
"  you  have  prayed  enough  ;  and  stay  no  longer." 

At  other  times,  "when  laboring  to  compose  his 
wandering  thoughts  and  to  fix  them  upon  God,"  he 
will  "  with  great  force  distract  and  confound  him, 
by  presenting  to  his  fancy  the  most  silly  and  trifling 
objects." 

An4  again,  when  he  "  has  some  strong  and  heart- 
affecting  apprehensions  of  God,"  his  heart  "  putting 
itself  forth  with  inexpressible  groanings,"  Satan  will 
come  to  him,  saying — "  You  are  very  hot  for  mercy ; 
but  I  will  cool  you — this  frame  shall  not  last  always. 
Many  have  been  as  hot  as  you  for  a  spirt ;  but  I  have 
quenched  their  zeal." 

At  that  he  will  remember  some  who  have  "  fallen 
off,"  and  will  begin  to  tremble  lest  he  should  "  do  so 
too." 

"  But  I  am  so  glad  that  this  has  come  into  my 
mind  :  I  will  watch,  and  take  what  care  I  can." 

"Ah  !  though  you  do,"  Satan  whispers,  "I  shall 
be  too  hard  for  you ;  I  will  cool  you  insensibly,  by 
degrees,  by  little  and  little.  What  care  I,  though  I 
be  seven  years  in  chilling  your  heart,  if  I  can  do  it 
at  last  ?  Continual  rocking  will  lull  a  crying  child 
asleep  :  I  will  ply  it  close  but  I  will  have  my  end  ac- 
complished. Though  you  be  burning  hot  at  present, 
3* 


30  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

I  can  pull  you  from  this  fire ;  I  shall  have  you  coli 
before  it  be  long." 

Grasping  his  sword,  the  brave  warrior  exclaims : — 
"  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor 
angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things 
present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth, 
nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to  separate  us 
from  the  love  of  God  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our 
Lord."  <;  And  now,"  he  says,  "  I  hoped  that  long 
life  would  not  destroy  me,  nor  make  me  miss  of 
heaven." 

*The  "  fiery  darts"  still  fly  thick  around  him.  One 
day,  sitting  in  a  neighbor's  house,  he  "  says  in  his 
mind — '  What  ground  have  I  to  think  that  I,  who 
have  been  so  vile  and  abominable,  shall  ever  inherit 
eternal  life  ?'  But  suddenly  that  word  comes  upon 
him,  *  What  shall  we  say  to  these  things  ?  if  God  be 
for  us,  who  can  be  against  us  V  "  Another  day  "  a 
sweet  glance"  surprises  him,  from  the  text,  "  He  hath 
made  Kim  to  be  sin  for  us,  who  knew  no  sin,  that 
we  might  be  made  the  righteousness  of  God  in 
Him."  And,  again,  a  "  fragrant  breeze"  freshens  his 
drooping  spirit,  in  the  words,  "  Because  I  live,  ye 
shall  live  also."  Still  these  words  are  but  "hints, 
touches,  short  visits  ;  though  very  sweet  when  pres- 
ent ;"  only,  they  "  last  not,  but,  like  Peter's  sheet, 
of  a  sudden  are  caught  up  from  him  to  heaven 
again." 

The  "  visits,"  however,  grow  at  once  more  frequent 
and  less  transient. 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  3] 

One  day,  as  he  is  travelling  into  the  country,  and 
is  musing  on  the  enmity  which  is  in  his  heart  to  God, 
that  Scripture  comes  into  his  mind — "  He  hath  made 
peace  by  the  blood  of  His  cross."  "  I  was  made  to 
see,"  he  says,  "  both  again  and  again,  that  God  and 
my  soul  were  friends  by  His  blood ;  yea,  I  saw  that 
the  justice  of  God,  and  my  sinful  soul,  could  embrace 
and  kiss  each  other,  through  His  blood.  This  was  a 
good  day  to  me ;  I  hope  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

Another  day,  he  is  sitting  by  the  fire  in  his  house, 
oppressed  with  a  sense  of  his  natural  wretchedness ; 
and  "  the  Lord  brings  to  him  that  Scripture — *  Foras- 
much, then,  as  the  children  are  partakers  of  flesh 
and  blood,  He  also  Himself  likewise  took  part  of  the 
same,  that  through  death  He  might  destroy  him  that 
had  the  power  of  death,  that  is,  the  devil,  and  deliver 
them  who  through  fear  of  death  were  all  their  life- 
time subject  to  bondage.'"  And  " the  glory  of  the 
words  is  so  weighty"  on  him,  that  he  is  "  both  once 
and  twice  ready  to  swoon ;"  yet  "  not  with  grief  and 
trouble,  but  with  solid  joy  and  peace." 

Thus,  for  the  time,  does  the  Lord  "  more  fully  and 
graciously  discover  Himself"  to  him,  and,  indeed, 
"  quite  deliver  him,  not  only  from  the  guilt  which  by 
these  temptations  has  been  laid  upon  his  conscience, 
but  also  from  the  filth  thereof;"  for  "  the  temptation 
is  removed,  and  he  is  put  into  his  right  mind  again." 

In  the  earnest  pastor  of  the  humble  flock  at  Bed- 
ford, Bunyan  now  finds  at  his  side  another  "  Faith- 
ful." "  At  this  time,"  he  tells  us,  "  I  sat  under  the 


32  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

ministry  of  holy  Mr.  Gifford,  whose  teaching  by 
God's  grace  was  much  for  my  stability."  It  is  pre- 
cisely such  teaching  as  he  at  this  season  needs. 
u  That  man  made  it  much  his  business,"  he  says,  "  to 
deliver  the  people  of  God  from  all  those  hard  and 
unsound  tests,  which  by  nature  we  are  prone  to.  He 
would  bid  us  take  special  heed  that  we  took  not  any 
truth  upon  trust,  as  from  this,  or  that,  or  any  other 
man  or  men,  but  cry  mightily  unto  God  that  He 
vvould  convince  us  of  the  reality  thereof,  and  would 
set  us  down  therein  by  His  own  Spirit  in  the  holy 
Word  ;  '  for,'  said  he,  '  if  you  do  otherwise,  when 
temptations  come  strongly  upon  you, — you,  not  hav- 
ing received  them  with  evidence  from  heaven,  will 
find  you  want  that  help  and  strength  now  to  resist, 
which  once  you  thought  you  had.' "  This  is  "  as 
seasonable  to  his  soul  as  the  former  and  latter  rain 
in  their  season  :"  wherefore  he  prays,  that,  in  "  nothing 
which  pertains  to  God's  glory  and  to  his  own  eternal 
happiness,  will  He  suffer  him  to  be  without  the  con- 
firmation thereof  from  heaven;"  for  now  he  "sees 
clearly,  there  is  an  exceeding  difference  betwixt  the 
notion  of  the  flesh  and  blood,  and  the  revelation  of 
God  in  heaven — also  a  great  difference  betwixt  that 
faith  which  is  feigned  and  according  to  man's  wis*- 
dom,  and  that  which  comes  from  a  man's  being  bom 
thereto  of  God." 


CHAPTEE    VI. 


"  His  beams  shall  cheer  my  breast ;  and  both  so  twine, 
Till  even  His  beams  sing,  and  iny  music  shine." 


Cowper — The  balm — "  Led  from  truth  to  truth" — Nothing  at  second- 
hand—Tne  only  Teacher — Assurance — A  scene  at  Erfurth — Luther 
and  Bunyan — Fears  within — A  pattern — Temptation. 

THE  poet  Cowper  was  not  uttering  an  unfelt  joy, 
when  he  wrote — 

"  Scripture  is  the  only  cure  of  woe. 
That  field  of  promise,  how  it  flings  abroad 
Its  odor  o'er  the  Christian's  thorny  road ! 
The  soul,  reposing  on  assured  relief, 
Feels  herself  happy  amidst  all  her  grief." 

Bunyan  now,  with  a  kindred  joy,  ponders,  day  by 
day,  the  sacred  page.  "  Oh !  how  my  soul,"  he  says, 
"  was  led  from  truth  to  truth  !  There  was  not  any- 
thing which  I  then  cried  to  God  to  make  known  to 
me  but  He  was  pleased  to  do  it  for  me — I  mean,  not 
one  part  of  the  Gospel  of  the  Lord  Jesus  but  I  was 
orderly  led  into  it." 

And  he  adds — "  Methought  I  was  as  if  I  had  seen 
Him  born — as  if  I  had  seen  Him  grow  up — as  if  I 
had  seen  Him  walk  through  this  world  from  the 
cradle  to  the  cross,  to  which  also  when  He  came,  I 


34  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

saw  how  gently  He  gave  Himself  to  be  nailed  on  it 
for  my  sins  and  wicked  doing.  I  have  seen  also  as 
if  He  had  leaped  out  of  the  grave's  mouth,  for  joy 
that  He  wa^  risen  again  and  had  got  the  conquest 
over  our  dreadful  foes,  saying,  '  I  ascend  unto  my 
Father  and  your  Father,  and  to  my  God  and  your 
God.'  I  have  likewise  in  the  spirit  seen  Him  a  Man 
on  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father  for  me,  and 
have  seen  the  manner  of  His  coming  from  heaven  to 
judge  the  world  with  glory." 

Bunyan  takes  nothing  at  second-hand.  If  ever  a 
man's  faith  was  "  established,  not  in  the  wisdom  of 
men,  but  in  the  power  of  God,"  it  is  his.  "  Truly  in 
those  days,"  he  writes,  "let  men  say  what  they 
would,  unless  I  had  it  with  evidence  from  heaven, 
all  was  nothing  to  me — I  counted  myself  not  set 
down  in  any  truth  of  God.  It  would  be  too  long  to 
tell  in  particular  how  God  did  set  me  down  in  all  the 
things  of  Christ,  and  how  He  did,  that  He  might 
do  so,  lead  me  into  His  words ;  yea,  and  also  how 
He  did  open  them  unto  me,  and  make  them  shine 
before  me,  and  cause  them  dwell  with  me,  talk  with 
me,  and  comfort  me  over  and  over.  Oh,  friends,  cry 
to  God  to  reveal  Jesus  Christ  unto  you;  there  is 
none  teacheth  like  Him." 

Herbert  once  wrote  : — 

''Why  do  I  languish  thus,  drooping  and  dull, 

As  if  I  were  all  of  earth  ? 
Oh  1  give  me  quickness,  that  I  may  with  mirth 
Praise  theo  brim-fall.'' 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  35 

The  seer  of  Bedford,  also,  growing  in  heavenliness, 
feels  how  imperfect  and  "  in  part"  is  all  here.  Often 
does  he  "long  and  desire  that  the  last  day  were 
come,  that  he  may  be  for  ever  inflamed  with  the 
sight  and  joy  and  communion  with  Him  whose  head 
was  crowned  with  thorns,  whose  face  was  spit  upon, 
and  body  broken,  and  soul  made  an  offering,  for  our 
sins."  For,  "  whereas  before,"  he  says,  "  I  lay  con- 
tinually trembling  at  the  mouth  of  hell — now,  me- 
thought,  I  was  got  so  far  therefrom  that,  when  I 
looked  back,  I  could  scarce  discern  it.  And,  oh ! 
thought  I,  that  I  were  fourscore  years  old  now,  that 
I  might  die  quickly,  that  my  soul  might  be  gone  to 
rest !" 

In  the  town  of  Erfurth,  a  century  previous,  there 
might  have  been  seen,  in  the  library  of  its  Augus- 
tiniari  monastery,  a  grave  earnest  man,  poring  for 
days  and  weeks  together  over  a  Bible  chained  to  a 
reading-desk,  and  hitherto  a  sealed  book.  It  is 
Martin  Luther,  inquiring  of  God,  "  What  shall  I  do 
to  be  saved  ?"  Deep  and  mysterious  are  the  strug- 
gles in  that  strong  heart.  But  light  arises ;  and 
masses,  austerities,  bead-rolls,  penances,  strivings, 
frames,  "  weighed  and  found  wanting,"  give  place 
to  the  righteousness  of  Jesus,  bestowed  as  a  free 
gift,  and  received  by  faith  alone.  Taught  his  theol- 
ogy thus  at  the  feet  of  Christ,  the  monk  goes  forth 
among  his  fellows,  uttering  in  tones  of  thunder  the 
great  secret  of  his  own  joyous  hope. 

Bunyan  is  "greatly  longing  to  see  some  ancient 


36  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

godly  man's  experience,"  when  "  God  casts  into  his 
hand  one  day  a  book  so  old  that  it  is  ready  to  fall 
piece  from  piece  if  he  but  turn  it  over."  The  book 
is  "  Luther  on  the  Galatians."  "  Perusing  it  but  a 
little  way,"  he  "finds  his  own  condition  so  largely 
and  so  profoundly  handled,  that  the  book  might  have 
been  written  out  of  his  heart."  "  Besides,"  says  he, 
"  it  doth  most  gravely  debate  of  the  rise  of  these 
temptations,  namely,  blasphemy,  desperation,  and  the 
like ;  showing  that  the  law  of  Moses — as  well  as 
the  devil,  death,  and  hell — linth  a  very  great  hand 
therein."  "  The  which  at  first  is  very  strange"  to 
him  ;  but,  "  considering  and  watching,"  he  "  finds  it 
so  indeed." 

Bunyan  and  Luther  were  cast  in  moulds  not  un- 
like ;  and  the  period  when  they  met — noL  in  per- 
sonal, indeed,  but  in  mutual  and  spiritual  converse — 
may  be  regarded  as  the  era  which  gave  to  Banyan's 
practical  theology  its  type  of  broad  common-sense, 
and  of  plain-spoken  dealing  with  the  human  con- 
science and  the  human  heart.  "  Of  particulars 
here,"  he  says,  expressing  his  own  sense  of  his 
deep  sympathy  with  the  great  Reformer,  "  I  intend 
nothing ;  only  this,  methinks,  I  must  let  fall  before 
all  men — I  do  prefer  this  book  of  Martin  Luther 
upon  the  Galatians  (excepting  the  Holy  Bible)  before 
all  the  books  which  ever  I  have  seen,  as  most  fit  for 
a  wounded  conscience." 


CHAPTER   VII. 


"And  now,  inethinks,  I  am  where  I  began 

Seven  years  ago ;  one  vogue  and  vein, 

One  air  of  thought  usurps  my  brain. 

I  did  toward  Canaan  draw ;  but  now  I  am 

Brought  back  to  the  Eed  Sea,  the  sea  of  shame." 

"  I  gave  to  Hope  a  watch  of  mine  ;  but  he 
An  anchor  gave  to  me." 


Luther— His  conflicts  and  triumphs— Face  to  face  with  Satan— Bun- 
yan— "Sell  Him"— Wrestlings— A  stroke— Gleam  of  light— New 
struggles — Not  content— The  "  flesh"  and  the  "  spirit" — The  unpar- 
donable sin — "False  opinions" — Satan's  aim — Sunny  gleams — "Fly- 
ing fits" — The  voice — "  No  use  praying" — "  Ancient  Christian" — The 
settle — An  echo — A  mill-post  at  his  back — Self-dedication. 

LUTHER  oftentimes — so  vivid  were  his  heart  ex- 
periences— seems  to  stand  before  us  in  actual  face- 
to-face  conflict  with  Satan.  At  one  moment,  he 
puts  him  to  flight  with  a  joyous  hymn  of  praise ; 
whilst,  at  another,  he  dares  him  to  write,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  catalogue  of  his  sins,  the  Scripture—"  The 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin" — and 
the  tempter  disappears.  Not  less  vivid  are  Bunyarrs 
wrestlings  with  the  arch-fiend. 

Scarcely  lias  the  Lord  "  set  him  down  so  sweetly, 
in  the  faith  of  His  holy  Gospel,"  and  he  has  felt  his 
"  affections  cleaving  to  Christ,"  and  his  love  to  Him 
4 


88  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  : 

"as  hot  as  fire" — when  "the  tempter  comes  upon 
him"  with  a  temptation  "  more  grievous  and  dread- 
ful" than  he  has  yet  known.  The  temptation  is,  "  to 
sell  and  part  with  this  most  blessed  Christ — to  ex*- 
change  Him  for  the  things  of  this  life,  for  any 
thing." 

For  the  space  of  a  year,  the  suggestion  follows 
him  continually,  so  that  he  is  not  rid  of  it  one  day 
in  a  month,  and  at  times  not  one  hour  in  many  days 
together,  except  when  he  is  asleep.  "  Sell  Christ  for 
this,"  whispers  the  tempter,  as  he  is  "  eating  his  food, 
stooping  for  a  pin,  chopping  a  stick,  or  casting 
his  eye  to  look  upon  any  object ;"  "  sell  Christ  for 
that ;  sell  Him,  sell  Him  !"  Sometimes  it  will  run  in 
his  thoughts,  "  not  so  little  as  a  hundred  times  to- 
gether, l  Sell  Him,  sell  Him,  sell  Him  !'  "  whilst  "  for 
whole  hours  together,  he  is  forced  to  stand  as  contin- 
ually leaning  and  forcing  his  spirit,  lest  haply,  before 
lie  is  aware,  there  arise  in  his  heart  some  wicked 
thought  which  may  consent  thereto."  And,  not- 
withstanding, "  the  tempter  at  times  succeeds  in 
persuading  him  he  has  consented  ;"  whereupon  he  is 
"  as  one  tortured  upon  a  rack  for  whole  days  to- 
gether." 

A  After  a  while  he  recovers  the  shock ;  but  again 
the  temptation  to  consent  "  puts  him  into  such  fear," 
that,  by  "  the  very  force  of  his  mind  in  laboring  to 
gainsay  and  resist  this  wickedness,  his  body  is  put 
into  action  or  motion  by  ways  of  pushing  or  thrust- 
ing with  his  hands  or  elbows" — the  "  destroyer"  still 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  39 

saying,  "  Sell  Him  !"  and  the  tried  man  still  answer- 
ing, until  he  scarce  well  knows  where  he  is  or  how 
to  be  composed  again — "I  will  not,  I  will  not,  I  will 
not !  no,  not  for  thousands,  thousands,  thousands  of 
worlds  !"  The  "  reckoning"  is,  to  make  sure  that,  in 
the  midst  of  these  assaults,  he  does  not  set  too  low  a 
value  on  Him. 

On  other  occasions,  the  tempter  appears  as  an 
angel  of  light  "dragging  him  into  bondage."  At 
these  seasons,  he  will  "  not  let  him  eat  his  food  at 
quiet ;"  but,  "  forsooth,  when  he  is  set  at  the  table  at 
his  meat,  he  must  go  hence  to  pray — he  must  leave 
his  food,  now,  and  just  now — so  counterfeit  holy, 
also,  would  this  devil  be." 

"  Now  I  am  at  meat,"  he  will  "  say  in  himself,"  at 
such  moments,  u  let  me  make  an  end." 

"  No,  you  must  do  it  now,  or  you  will  displease 
God  and  despise  Christ." 

And  then  he  will  feel  "  as  guilty,  because  he  has 
not  obeyed  a  temptation  of  the  devil,  as  if  he  had 
broken  the  law  of  God  indeed." 

The  reader  will  remember  Christian's  "  dreadful 
fall,"  when  Apollyon,  "  gathering  up  close"  to  him, 
"  had  almost  pressed  him  to  death."  One  morning, 
Bunyan  is  lying  awake,  harassed  by  "  the  wickecr 
suggestion  still  running  in  his  mind,  as  fast  as  a  man 
could  speak,  l  Sell  Him,  sell  Him,  sell  Him,  sell 
Him !' "  and  "  in  his  mind  he.  is  answering,  at  least 
twenty  times  together — '  No,  no,  not  for  thousands, 
thousands,  thousands  !'  "  when,  at  last,  "  after  much 


40  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

striving,  even  until  he  is  almost  out  of  breath,"  he 
feels  this  thought  pass  through  his  heart,  "  Let  Him 
go  if  He  will ;"  and  he  thinks  also  that  he  "  feels  his 
heart  freely  consent  thereto."  The  battle  seems  lost; 
and  "  down  he  falls,  as  a  bird  shot  from  the  top  of  a 
tree,  into  great  guilt  and  fearful  despair."  Hastening 
out  of  bed,  he  "goes  moping  into  the  field" — where, 
for  the  space  of  two  hours,  he  is  "like  a  man  bereft 
of  life — past  all  recovery,  and  bound  over  to  eternal 
punishment." 

And  yet  he  "  concludes,  with  great  indignation 
both  against  his  heart  and  against  all  assaults,  how 
he  would  rather  be  torn  in  pieces  than  be  found  a 
consenter  thereto."  In  spite  of  his  self-condemna- 
tory reasonings  his  heart  is  true  and  loyal. 

The  "  new  man"  is  of  God,  and  cannot  act  against 
God ;  the  "-old  man"  is  of  the  devil,  and  cannot  act 
for  God.  It  is  Jacob  and  Esau  struggling  together 
in  the  same  womb.  The  "  flesh"  is  essentialy  hellish 
and  devilish  ;  the  "  spirit"  is  as  essentially  heavenly 
and  divine.  Hence  the  struggle  and  the  victory  : 
what  is  of  God  must  encounter  Satan's  enmity,  and 
must  also  overcome.  "  I  write  unto  you,  young 
men,"  says  John,  "because  ye  have  overcome  the 
^wicked  one."  The  tempter  was  not  finally  beaten 
back  ;  but  each  new  conflict  ended  in  a  new  triumph. 
Such  a  triumph  is  awaiting  Bunyan  ;  but,  this  time, 
it  is  not  till  after  a  protracted  fight. 

The  fear  "  tears  and  rends"  him — "  Have  I  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin  ?"  And  this  though 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  41 

presents  itself — "How  loathsome  shall  I  be  to  the 
saints  at  the  day  of  judgment !"  Scarcely  can  he 
see  a  good  man,  whom  he  believes  to  have  a  good 
conscience,  but,  "  he  feels  his  heart  tremble  at  him 
while  he  is  in  his  presence."  And  then  this — "  Oh, 
what  a  glory  in  walking  with  God  !  and  what  a 
mercy  to  have  a  good  conscience  before  Him  !" 

Again  ;  he  is  tempted  to  "  content  himself  by  re- 
ceiving some  false  opinions ;"  as,  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  day  of  judgment,  or  a  resurrection  ; 
— the  tempter  suggesting  that,  "  even  though  these 
things  should  be  true,  it  would  be  a  present  relief 
not  to  believe  them."  But,  as  he  listens  to  this  lie, 
he  "  sees  judgment  and  the  judge"  at  the  very  door, 
"  as  if  they  were  come  already."  And  the  lesson  he 
learns  is,  that  "  Satan  will  use  any  means  to  keep 
the  soul  from  Christ;"  an  "awakened  frame  of 
spirit"  being  that  which  he  hates ;  and  "  security, 
blindness,  darkness,  and  error"  being  his  "  very  king- 
dom and  habitation." 

Yet  gleams  of  sunshine  flit  across  these  dark 
scenes.  This  Scripture  "rushes"  upon  him  — "He 
hath  received  gifts  for  men,  even  for  the  rebellious." 
"Am  not  I  a  rebel?"  he  asks  himself;  "and  then 
why  not  for  rne  ?"  And  such  cases  as  David,  Peter, 
Solomon,  Manasseh,  comfort  him ;  for,  "  though  all 
the  sins  of  these  saints,  and  of  other  great  offenders 
were  put  together  in  one,  and  though  his  own  sins 
were  bigger  than  all,  cannot  the  blood  which  had 


42  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

virtue  enough  in  it  to  wash  away  their  sins,  wash 
away  his  also  ?" 

On  another  occasion,  he  is  "  fleeing  from  God  as 
from  the  face  of  a  dreadful  judge."  But,  "  in  these 
flying  fits,"  this  Scripture  calls  after  him — u  I  have 
blotted  out,  as  a  thick  cloud,  thy  transgressions,  and 
as  a  cloud  thy  sins ;  return  unto  me,  for  I  have  re- 
deemed thee."  It  cries  aloud  with  a  very  great 
voice,  so  that  he  "  makes  a  little  stop,  and,  as  it  were, 
iooks  over  his  shoulder  behind  him  to  see  if  he  cannot 
discern  that  the  God  of  grace  follows  him  with  a  par- 
don in  his  hand." 

One  day,  as  he  is  "  walking  to  and  fro  in  a  good 
man's  shop,"  again  bowed  down  by  the  fear  of  hav- 
ing committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  and  praying  in 
his  heart  that,  if  his  sin  do  differ  from  that  against 
the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Lord  will  show  it  to  him — 
"  suddenly  there  is,  as  if  there  rushed  in  at  the  win- 
dow, the  noise  of  wind  upon  him,  but  very  pleasant ; 
and  as  if  he  heard  a  voice  speaking, 4  Didst  thou  ever 
refuse  to  be  justified  by  the  blood  of  Christ  ?'  "  In  an 
instant,  his  "whole  life  of  profession"  is  opened  to 
him ;  and  he  sees  that  designedly  he  has  not,  and 
his  "  heart  answers  groaningly,  No."  Light  comes, 
and  a  calm  silence — stilling  the  tumult  of  "those 
thoughts  which,  like  masterless  hell-hounds,  have 
roared  and  bellowed,  and  made  so  hideous  a  noise 
within  him." 

Another  temptation,  however,  tries  him.  Can  he 
have  the  face  once  more  to  go  to  the  feet  of  that 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  43 

Saviour  against  whom  he  has  so  vilely  sinned  ?  Oh 
the  shame  which  now  attends  him,  when  he  thinks 
of  going  to  God  by  prayer !  "  It  is  no  use  your 
prayers,"  whispers  Satan  ;  "  for  God  is  weary  of  you 
and  of  your  unbelief,  in  not  going  up  to  possess  the 
land."  The  man  is  stunned.  "  Oh  !  who  knows," 
says  he,  "  how  hard  a  thing  I  found  it  to  come  to 
God  in  prayer!"  But,  whilst  "pinched  very  sore," 
he  thinks  he  can  but  die ;  and,  so,  pray  he  will  and 
must — even  though  it  should  once  be  written, "  Such 
an  one  died  at  the  foot  of  Christ  in  prayer." 

At  this  crisis,  harassed  and  perplexed  by  every 
passing  wind,  he  breaks  his  mind  to  "an  ancient 
Christian,"  telling  him  he  is  afraid  he  has  sinned  the 
sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  "  I  think  so,  too,"  is 
the  reply.  This  is  "  cold  comfort ;"  but  he  is  relieved 
on  finding  that,  though  a  gracious  man,  he  is  "  a 
stranger  to  much  combat  with  the  devil."  So  he 
hies  him  back  once  more  to  God  again,  beseeching 
mercy  there. 

But  a  strange  cloud  still  shrouds  God's  face.  He 
thinks  of  Jesus — of  His  "  grace,  goodness,  love,  kind- 
ness, gentleness,  meekness,  death,  blood,  promises, 
and  blessed  exhortations,  comforts,  and  consolations ;" 
but  all  this  "  goes  to  his  soul  like  a  sword,"  for  the 
thought  comes,  "Ay,  this  is  the  Jesus,  the  loving 
Saviour,  whom  I  have  parted  with  ;  and  oh,  what  I 
have  lost !" 

One  day,  in  this  troubled  mood,  he  is  pacing  the 
streets  of  a  neighboring  town — when,  ready  to  sink, 


44  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

he  sits  down  upon  a  "  settle,"  and  "  falls  into  a  very 
deep  pause"  about  his  sin.  "  Methiuks,"  says  he,  as 
he  lifts  up  his  head  after  a  long  musing,  "  that  sun 
grudges  to  give  me  light ;  and  those  stones  in  the 
street,  and  tiles  on  the  houses,  band  themselves 
against  me."  And,  heaving  a  heavy  sigh,  he  adds, 
"  How  can  God  comfort  such  a  wretch  ?" 

A  sunbeam,  however,  once  more  penetrates  his 
soul.  "  This  sin  of  thine,"  an  echo  seems  to  answer, 
"  is  not  unto  death."  It  is  as  if  he  "  had  suddenly 
been  raised  out  of  the  grave,"  and  he  exclaims — 
"  Lord,  how  couldst  thou  find  out  such  a  word  as 
this  ?"  For  he  is  "filled  with  admiration  at  the  fitness 
and  the  unexpectedness  of  the  sentence,  and  at  the 
tightness  of  the  timing  of  it,  and  at  the  power,  and 
sweetness,  and  light,  and  glory,  which  has  come  with 
it."  His  sin,  he  now  thinks,  is  pardonable  ;  and  great 
is  the  "easement"  to  his  mind — it  is  a  release  "  from  his 
former  bonds,  and  a  shelter  from  his  former  storms." 

For  two  days  that  sentence  "  stands  like  a  mill- 
post  at  his  back."  But  by  and  by  it  begins  to  leave 
him,  and  to  "  withdraw  its  supportation"  from  him  ; 
and  so,  again  he  finds  himself  on  his  knees  under  his 
"  old  fears,"  and  crying — "  O  Lord,  I  beseech  thee, 
show  me  that  thou  hast  loved  me  with  everlasting 
love."  Scarcely  has  the  cry  gone  forth,  when,  like 
an  echo,  there  returns  upon  him — u  I  have  loved  thee 
with  an  everlasting  love."  He  goes  to  bed  in  quiet ; 
also,  when  he  awakes  next  morning,  it  is  fresh  upon 
nis  soul,  and  he  "  believes  it." 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  45 

Leaving  once  more  the  ashes  and  the  "  pots"  among 
which  he  has  been  lying,  he  soars  aloft  into  the  soul's 
proper  rest  and  home — 

"  On  steady  wings  sails  through  the  immense  abyss, 
Plucks  amaranthine  joys  from  bowers  of  bliss." 

And  the  "  love  and  affection"  which  now  again 
"burn  within  him  toward  his  Lord  and  Saviour," 
work  "  such  a  strong  and  hot  desire  of  revengement 
upon  himself  for  the  abuse  which  he  has  done  to  Him, 
that,  had  he  a  thousand  gallons  of  blood  within  his 
veins,  he  feels  he  could  freely  spill  it  all  at  His  com- 
mand, and  at  His  feet."  And  such  a  passage  as  this 
stimulates  him — "  There  is  forgiveness  with  thee, 
that  thou  mayest  be  feared ;"  for  it  is  "  thus  made 
out"  to  him — that  the  great  God  doth  set  so  high  an 
esteem  on  the  love  of  His  poor  creatures,  that,  rather 
than  go  without  their  love,  He  will  pardon  their 
transgressions.  And  then  another  word  is  u  fulfilled 
on  him" — "They  shall  be  ashamed  and  confounded, 
and  never  open  their  mouths  any  more,  because  of 
their  shame ;  when  I  am  pacified  toward  them  for  all 
that  they  have  done,  saith  the  Lord  God."  And  thus 
his  soul  at  this  time — and,  as  he  then  thinks,  for  ever 
— is  "  set  at  liberty  from  being  afflicted  with  his  for- 
mer guilt  and  amazement." 


CHAPTEE   VIII. 

"  I  got  me  flowers  to  strew  THY  way ; 
I  got  me  boughs  off  many  a  tree." 

Heart-ache-Deep  gulf—"  Yet  I  will  pray"— "Clapping  on.the  back"- 
"Able"— "For  thee"— "A  grace-giver"— Napoleon— " Has  left  Him" 
—A  calm— Christ  in  heaven— Brainerd— Love. 

"  SECURITY,"  it  has  been  said,  "  is  the  greatest  of 
our  dangers."  To  this  peril,  certainly,  Bunyan  is 
not  exposed.  His  Christian  life  hitherto  has  been 
one  continuous  conflict ;  nor  is  the  battle  yet  over. 

Many  weeks  have  not  passed  when  again  his 
"  heart  begins  to  ache,"  lest  he  "  meet  with  disap- 
pointment at  last."  And  he  sets  himself  most  dil- 
igently to  examine  his  former  comfort,  fearing  that 
one  who  has  sinned  so  grievously  against  light  may 
be  shut  out  from  all  right  to  peace  and  joy.  "  Re- 
joice not,  O  Israel,  for  joy,  as  other  people"— startles 
him  ;  for,  though  there  is  cause  of  rejoicing  for  those 
who  "  hold  to  Jesus,"  has  not  he  cut  himself  off  by 
liis  transgressions,  and  left  himself  "  neither  foot-hold 
nor  hand-hold  among  all  the  stays  and  props  in  the 
precious  Word  of  life  ?"  And  so  again  he  "sinks 
into  a  gulf,  as  a  house  whose  foundation  is  destroyed," 
the  darkness  brooding  over  him  for  many  months. 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  47 

One  day,  the  thought  occurs  to  him — "  Men  ought 
always  to  pray  and  not  to  faint."  But  no  sooner 
has  he  set  himself  with  new  earnestness  to  this  exer- 
cise than  the  tempter  "  lays  at  him  very  sore,"  saying 
— "  Neither  the  mercy  of  God,  nor  yet  the  blood  of 
Christ,  does  at  all  concern  you,  nor  can  help  you  for 
your  sin  ;  therefore  it  is  vain  to  pray." 

"  Yet,  T  will  pray,"  he  secretly  says  to  himself. 

"  But  your  sin  is  unpardonable." 

"  Well,  I  will  pray." 

"  It  is  to  no  boot." 

"  But  I  will  pray." 

And,  going  upon  his  knees,  he  says — "  Lord,  Satan 
tells  me  that  neither  thy  mercy  nor  Christ's  blood  is 
sufficient  to  save  my  soul :  Lord,  shall  I  honor  thee 
most  by  believing  thou  wilt  and  canst?  or  him,  by 
believing  thou  neither  wilt  nor  canst  ?  Lord.  I 

O  7 

would  fain  honor  thee  by  believing  thou  wilt  and 
canst."  Scarcely  has  he  spoken,  when  it  seems  as 
if  "  some  one  was  clapping  him  on  the  back,"  saying 
— "  O  man,  great  is  thy  faith." 

Another  day,  after  continuing  from  the  morning 
till  about  seven  or  eight  at  night,  "  again  much  un- 
der this  question,  '  Whether  the  blood  of  Christ  is 
sufficient  to  save  his  soul,'  " — suddenly,  as  he  is 
quite  worn  out  writh  fear,  these  words  "  sound  within 
his  heart,  l  He  is  able.'  "  "  Methought,"  says  he, 
"  this  word  '  able'  was  spoke  loud  to  me ;  it  showed 
a  great  word ;  it  seemed  to  be  writ  in  great  letters, 
and  gave  such  a  jostle  to  my  fear  and  doubt  as  I 


48  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  : 

never  had  from  that  time,  all  my  life,  either  before  or 
after." 

Yet,  even  this  bright  gleam  is  of  short  duration. 
A  fortnight  after,  his  sky  is  again  overcast,  and  he  is 
crying — 

"  Whither  away,  delight  ? 
Thou  cam'st  but  now ;  wilt  thou  so  soon  depart 
And  give  me  up  to-night  ?" 

But  now  the  sun  returns  more  speedily.  One  morn- 
ing, as  he  is  on  his  knees,  that  word  "  darts  in"  upon 
him — "  My  grace  is  sufficient."  A  short  time  before, 
the  same  word  "  could  not  come  near  his  soul  with 
comfort,"  so  that  he  had  "  thrown  down  his  book  in 
a  pet ;"  but  now  it  is  "  not  large  enough"  for  him — 
it  is  as  if  it  "  had  arms  of  grace  so  wide"  that  it 
could  "  enclose,  not  him  only,  but  many  more  be- 
sides." A  few  weeks  elapse,  and  the  thought  occurs 
— "  But  is  this  grace  for  me  ?"  He  has  left  out  "  for 
thee ;"  and,  once  more,  he  is  in  the  fearful  pit.  One 
evening  however,  as  he  is  in  a  meeting  of  God's  peo- 
ple, full  of  sadness  and  terror,  suddenly  there  "  break 
in"  upon  him,  with  great  power,  and  three  times  to- 
gether, the  words — "  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thec  ; 
my  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee  ;  my  grace  is  sufficient 
lor  thee."  And,  "  oh  !  methought,"  says  he,  "  that 
every  word  was  a  mighty  word  unto  me ;  as  i  my,' 
and  i  grace,7  and  i  sufficient,'  and  '  for  thee  ;'  they 
were  then,  and  sometimes  are  still,  far  bigger  than 
others  be." 


JOHN   BUN!  AN.  49 

With   touching  pathos  a  poet  has  written,  con- 
cerning the  soul's  inner  struggles — 

"  I  struck  the  board,  and  cried,  c  No  more ! 

I  will  abroad. 

What !  shall  I  ever  sigh  and  pine  ? 
My  lines  and  life  are  free ;  free  as  the  road, 
Loose  as  the  wind,  as  large  as  store. 

Shall  I  still  be  in  suit  ? 
Have  I  no  harvest,  but  a  thorn 
To  let  me  blood ;  and  not  restore 
What  I  have  lost,  with  cordial  fruit  ? 
Sure,  there  was  wine, 
Before  my  sighs  did  dry  it ;  there  was  corn, 

Before  my  tears  did  drown  it. 
Is  the  year  only  lost  to  me  ? 

Have  I  no  bays  to  crown  it  ? 
No  flow'rs,  no  garlands  gay  ?  all  blasted  ? 

All  wasted  ? 

Not  so,  my  heart !  but  there  is  fruit ; 
And  thou  hast  hands. 
Away,  take  heed  1 
I  will  abroad. 
Call  in  thy  death's  head  there.     Tie  up  thy  fears. '  " 

The  time  is  now  at  hand  when  this  great  soul  is  to 
go  forth  in  giant-might,  "  the  joy  of  the  Lord"  his 
"  strength."  And,  led  by  a  way  which  he  knows 
not,  he  is  struggling  onwards  to  his  sure  rest.  u  I 
was,"  says  he,  on  the  occasion  last  named,  "  as 
though  I  had  seen  the  Lord  Jesus  look  down  from 
heaven  through  the  tiles  upon  me  ;"  and  it  sends  him 
home  mourning,  his  heart  broken  and  "  filled  full  of 

joy." 

6 


50  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  '. 

"  Christ,"  said  Martin  Luther,  "  is  not  a  new  law- 
giver, but  only  a  grace-giver."  Bunyan  now  grasps 
more  and  more  firmly  this  truth.  One  day,  in  a 
troubled  agitation  of  his  spirit  about  "  Esau's  birth- 
right," and  about  his  own  likeness  to  him  in  surren- 
dering it,  he  appeals  to  God  to  bring  the  conflict  to 
an  issue  by  confronting  with  it  His  own  grace.  In- 
stantly the  "  two  Scriptures  bolt"  upon  him,  and  they 
work  and  struggle  strongly  in  him  for  a  while,  until 
at  last  "  that  about  Esau's  birthright  begins  to  wax 
weak,  and  withdraw,  and  vanish,  and  this  about  the 
sufficiency  of  grace  prevails  with  peace  and  joy." 
As  he  is  "  in  a  muse"  about  this,  that  Scripture 
"  comes  in  upon  him,"  "  Mercy  rejoiceth  over  judg- 
ment." This  is  "  a  wonderment"  to  him ;  yet  he 
does  not  doubt  it  is  of  God,  for  "  the  word  of  the 
law  and  of  wrath  must  give  place  to  the  word  of  life 
and  of  grace." 

One  day,  at  St.  Helena,  Napoleon  was  contrasting 
the  force  of  Christianity  with  all  other  forces  known 
among  men.  "  Alexander,"  said  he,  "  Ca3sar,  Charle- 
magne, and  myself,  founded  empires ;  but  on  what 
foundation  did  we  rest  the  creations  of  our  genius  ? 
Upon  force.  Jesus  Christ  founded  an  empire  upon 
love  ;  and,  at  this  hour,  millions  of  men  would  die 
for  Him."  And,  turning  to  Bertrand,  he  added,  still 
resting  upon  this  fact — "  If  you  do  not  perceive  that 
Jesus  Christ  is  God,  I  did  wrong  to  appoint  you  gen- 
eral." It  is  this  divine  characteristic  of  the  Saviour 
which  Bunyan,  in  spite  of  all  Satan's  wiles  and  even 


JOHN    BUN Y AN.  51 

by  means  of  them,  is  now  day  by  day  realizing  more 
vividly. 

One  evening,  that  Scripture  "  most  sweetly  visits" 
his  soul — "  Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no 
wise  cast  out."  "  Oh  !  the  comfort,"  says  he,  "  which 

had  from  that  word,  '  In  no  wise  !'  As  if  He  had 
said, '  By  no  means,  for  nothing  whatsoever  which 
you  may  have  done.' " 

"  But,"  whispers  Satan  to  him,  "  greatly  laboring 
to  pull"  it  from  him,  "  Christ  did  not  mean  you,  or 
such  as  you." 

"  Nay,  but  here  is  in  these  words  no  such  excep- 
tion ;  i  him  that  comes' — l  him' — any  *  him  ;'  '  Him 
that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.' " 

"  And  so,"  he  writes,  "  if  ever  Satan  and  I  did 
strive  for  any  word  of  God  in  all  my  life,  it  was  for 
this  good  word  of  Christ ;  he  at  one  end,  and  I  at 
the  other.  Oh,  what  work  we  made  !  It  was  for 
this  in  John,  I  say,  that  we  did  so  tug  and  strive  ;  he 
pulled  and  I  pulled ;  but,  God  be  praised,  I  overcame 
him ;  I  got  sweetness  from  it." 

Another  day,  "  notwithstanding  all  these  helps," 
he  is  still  perplexed  with  the  thought — "  But  have 
you  not,  like  Esau,  sold  Him  3" 

u  Well,  suppose  I  have ;  does  not  that  mean,  c  I 
have  freely  left  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  his  choice, 
whether  He  will  be  my  Saviour  or  no?'  for  the 
wicked  suggestion  is,  '  Let  Him  go,  if  He  will.'  But 
He  tells  me,  i  I  will  never  leave  thee,  nor  forsake 
thee.' " 


52  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

"  Yes,  but  thou  has  left  Him." 

"  But  /  will  not  leave  thee." 

He  thanks  God,  and  takes  courage.  Those  Scrip. 
tures  which  once  he  wished  out  of  the  Bible,  now 
look  "  not  so  grimly"  at  him  as  he  thought  they  did. 
Election  and  sovereignty  now  shine  as  the  very  glory 
of  grace. 

After  these  storms,  a  sweet  calm  settles  down  upon 
his  soul,  and  he  sings : 

"  King  of  Griory,  King  of  Peace, 

I  will  love  thee. 

And,  that  love  may  never  cease, 
I  will  move  thee. 

Thou  hast  granted  my  request ; 

Thou  hast  heard  me. 
Thou  didst  note  my  working  breast : 

Thou  hast  spared  me. 

Though  my  sins  against  me  cried, 

Thou  didst  clear  me ; 
And,  alone,  when  they  replied, 

Thou  didst  hear  me." 

True,  "  some  drops"  now  and  then  fall  upon  him  ; 
but  it  is  only  "  the  hinder  part  of  the  tempest" — the 
thunder  is  gone  beyond  him. 

One  morning,  as  he  is  "  passing  into  the  field,  and 
that,  too,  with  some  dashes  on  his  conscience,  fearing 
lest  all  be  not  right" — this  Scripture  comes  upon  his 
heart,  "  Thy  righteousness  is  in  heaven." 

"  There,"  he  exclaims,  looking  upward,  "  with  the 


JOHN   BUKYAN.  53 

eye  of  his  soul,"  and  beholding  Jesus  Christ  at  God's 
right  hand,  u  there  is  my  righteousness !  Wherever 
I  am,  and  whatever  I  am  doing,  God  can  never  say, 
He  does  not  see  my  righteousness ;  for  it  is  just  be- 
fore Him,  and  that  continually." 

Thus  he  sees  that  it  is  not  his  own  good  frame 
of  heart  which  makes  his  righteousness  better,  nor 
his  bad  frame  that  makes  it  worse ;  for  his  righteous-- 
ness is  Jesus  Christ  Himself — "the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  for  ever."  And  although,  on  going  home 
and  searching  the  Scriptures,  he  does  not  find  these 
exact  words,  "  Thy  righteousness  is  in  heaven,"  yet 
that  other  word  comes  before  him — "  He  is  made  of 
God  unto  us  wisdom,  righteousness,  sanctification, 
and  redemption  ;"  by  which  word  he  "  sees  the  other 
sentence  true." 

Now  do  his  "chains  fall  off  his  legs  indeed." 
Brainerd  describes  his  enlargement  as  a  fixed  and 
steadfast  contemplation  of  God  in  Christ — the  thought 
of  his  own  peace  or  comfort,  or  even  existence, 
scarcely  entering  his  mind.  Such  also  is  Bunyan's 
experience  at  this  season.  "  Oh !  methought,"  he 
says,  "  Christ !  Christ !  there  was  nothing  but  Christ 
that  was  before  my  eyes.  I  was  now  for  looking  upon 
this  and  the  other  benefits  of  Christ  apart,  as  of  His 
blood,  burial,  or  resurrection,  but  considering  Him 
as  a  whole  Christ !  as  Him  in  whom  all  these,  and 
all  other  His  virtues,  relations,  offices,  and  operations, 
met  together,  and  that  He  sat  on  the  right  hand  of 
God  in  heaven." 

5 


54  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

Love  is  life.  God  is  love ;  and  to  dwell  in  God  is 
to  dwell  in  love.  Love  is  the  very  atmosphere  which 
God  breathes ;  and  the  moment  the  Divine  nature  is 
communicated  to  a  man  in  the  new  birth,  the  same 
atmosphere  is  breathed.  Hence  it  comes  to  pass 
that  the  "new  man,"  by  a  necessity  of  his  nature, 
loves.  "  It  i-s  when  we  love,"  says  Vinet,  "  that  our 
salvation  is  realized.  Love  lends  to  the  light  of  our 
lamp  its  liveliest  and  brightest  beams.  Faith  and 
hope  are  of  value,  only  because  they  conduct  to  love ; 
and  the  soul  would  dispense  with  believing  and  hop- 
ing, if,  without  hoping  and  believing,  it  were  possible 
to  love."  Bunyan  now  has  reached  this  heavenly 
iandiug-place,  from  which  Satan  by  his  wiles  has  so 
long  sought  to  intercept  him.  "  The  Lord,"  says  he, 
"  did  lead  me  into  the  mystery  of  union  with  the  Son 
of  God — that  I  was  joined  to  Him — that  I  was  flesh 
of  His  flesh,  and  bone  of  His  bone."  And  then  he 
sees  that,  if  Christ  and  he  are  one,  Christ's  righteous- 
ness is  his,  Christ's  merits  his,  Christ's  victory  also 
his.  "  Now,"  says  he,  "  could  I  see  myself  in  heaven 
and  on  earth  at  once ;  in  heaven  by  my  Christ,  by 
my  Head,  by  my  righteousness  and  life ;  though  on 
earth  by  my  body  or  person."  He  is  risen  with 
Christ,  and  he  knows  it ;  he  is  a  partaker  of  His 
resurrection-life  ;  and  the  result  is,  his  affections  are 
set  upon  things  above,  and  upon  Him  who  is  above. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


"  "Where  am  I  now?    Is  this  the  love  and  care 
Of  Jesus  for  the  men  that  pilgrims  are  ? 
Thus  to  provide  !  that  I  should  be  forgiven! 
And  dwell  already  the  next  door  to  heaven  1" 


The  house  Beautiful— The  salutation— Aspirations— Foretastes- 
Church  at  Bedford— The  Supper— Shadow  of  death— "  Sickness 
doubled1' — "  Greatly  pinched" — "  A  turn" — "  Got  on  high"— 
Alleyne. 

"  WHO  can  tell  how  joyful  this  man  was  when  he 
had  gotten  his  roll  again  ?  for  this  roll  was  the  as- 
surance of  his  life  and  of  acceptance  at  the  desired 
haven."  So  wrote  Bunyan,  many  years  afterwards, 
describing  in  his  Allegory  this  stage  in  his  own 
"progress."  And  now,  nimbly  mounting  the  rest 
of  the  hill,  and  passing  unharmed  the  chained  though 
roaring  lions,  he  is  entertained  in  the  "  house  Beau- 
tiful" by  its  grave  and  comely  inmates. 

It  was  a  touching  salutation  with  which  the  way- 
farer was  welcomed — "  She  smiled,  but  the  water 
stood  in  her  eyes."  The  pilgrim  was  there  victo- 
rious, but  he  bore  the  scars  of  conflict. 

And  how  yearningly  did  he  long  for  holier  and 
closer  fellowship  than  this  place  of  tears  and  of 
shadows  gives!  uWhat  is  it,"  said  Prudence, 


56  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

"  which  makes  you  so  desirous  to  go  to  Mount 
Zion  ?'*  "Why,  there,"  he  replied,  "I  hope  to  see 
Him  alive  that  did  hang  dead  on  the  cross;  and 
there  I  hope  to  be  rid  of  all  those  things  which,  to 
this  day,  are  an  annoyance  to  me:  there,  they  say, 
there  is  no  death  ;  and  there  I  shall  dwell  with  such 
company  as  I  like  best.  For,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  love  Him  because  I  was  by  him  eased  of  my  bur- 
den ;  and  I  am  weary  of  my  inward  sickness.  I 
would  fain  be  where  I  shall  die  no  more,  and  with 
the  company  who  shall  continually  cry,  *  Holy,  holy, 
holy  F  " 

But  until  that  bright  land  should  be  reached, 
pleasant  foretastes  were  vouchsafed. 

"  Do  you  not  find  sometimes,"  asked  one  of  the 
inmates  of  the  palace,  "  as  if  those  things  were  van- 
quished, which  at  other  times  are  your  perplexity  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Christian;  "and  they  are  to  me 
golden  hours,  in  which  such  things  happen  to  me." 

"Can  you  remember  by  what  means  you  find 
your  annoyances,  at  times,  as  if  they  were  van- 
quished ?" 

"  Yes,  when  I  think  of  what  I  saw  at  the  Cross, 
that  will  do  it ;  and  when  I  look  at  my  broidered 
coat,  that  will  do  it ;  also  when  I  look  into  the  roll, 
that  I  carry  in  my  bosom,  that  will  do  it ;  and  when 
my  thoughts  wax  warm  about  whither  I  am  going, 
that  will  do  it." 

Bunyan's  "  house  Beautiful"  is  the  humble  church 
at  Bedford.  "After  I  had  propounded  to  them," 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  5  7 

says  he,  "my  desire  to  walk  in  the  order  and  ordi- 
nances of  Christ  with  them,  and  was  also  admitted 
by  them  ;  while  I  thought  of  that  blessed  ordinance 
of  Christ,  which  was  his  last  supper  with  His  disci- 
ples before  his  death — that  Scripture,  '  Do  this  in 
remembrance  of  me,'  was  made  a  very  precious  word 
to  me  ;  for  by  it  the  Lord  did  come  down  upon  my 
conscience  with  the  discovery  of  His  death  for  my 
sins,  and,  as  I  then  felt,  did  as  if  He  plunged  me  in 
the  virtue  of  the  same." 

Scarcely  has  he  joined  the  Church,  when  he  is 
"  suddenly  and  violently  seized"  with  "  something 
inclining  to  a  consumption ;"  insomuch  that  he 
"  thinks  he  cannot  live." 

Taken  thus  into  the  "valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,"  he  is  brought  face  to  face  with  "  the  innume- 
rable company  of  his  sins  and  transgressions,"  his 
"  deadness,  dulness,  and  coldness  in  his  holy  duties  ; 
his  wanderings  of  heart,  his  wearisomeness  in  all 
good  things,  his  want  of  love  to  God,  to  His  way, 
and  to  His  people :  and  "  with  this  at  the  end  of 
all — 'Are  these  the  fruits  of  Christianity  ?  are  these 
the  tokens  of  a  blessed  man  ?'" 

His  "  sickness  is  doubled"  upon  him ;  for  now  he 
is  "sick  in  his  inward  man" — his  soul  is  clogged 
with  guilt.  And,  to  add  to  his  distress,  his  "  former 
experience  of  God's  goodness  is  taken  quite  out  of 
his  mind,  and  hid  as  if  it  had  never  been  nor  seen." 
"  It  seemed  once  more,"  says  he,  "  as  if  all  was  over 
with  me,  my  soul  being  greatly  pinched  betwixt 


58  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

these  two  considerations — 'Live  I  must  not,  die  I 
dare  not.'  Now  I  sunk  in  my  spirits,  and  was  giv- 
ing up  all  for  lost." 

One  day,  however,  as  he  is  walking  up  and  down 
in  his  house,  "  as  a  man  in  a  most  woeful  state,"  this 
Scripture  takes  hold  of  his  heart — "  Ye  are  justified 
freely  by  His  grace,  through  the  redemption  which 
is  in  Christ  Jesus."  And,  "  O  !  what  a  turn"  it  makes 
upon  him  !  It  is  as  if  a  voice  had  said  to  him — 

"  Poor  man  !  where  art  thou  now  ?  thy  day  is  night. 
Good  man,  be  not  cast  down,  thou  yet  art  right ; 
Thy  way  to  Heaven  lies  by  the  gates  of  Hell ; 
Cheer  up,  hold  out,  with  thee  it  shall  go  well." 

Not  more  joyful  was  the  pilgrim  that  morning, 
as  he  emerged  from  the  dismal  valley,  than  is  Bun- 
yan  at  this  new  glimpse  of  his  heavenly  standing 
and  rest.  He  is  "  as  one  awaked  out  of  some  trou- 
blesome sleep  and  dream." 

"  Behold,  my  Son  is  by  me,"  God  seems  to  say  to 
him  through  that  Scripture ;  "  and  upon  Him  I 
look,  and  not  on  thee,  and  shall  deal  with  thee  ac- 
cording as  I  am  pleased  with  Him."  Now  he  u  is 
got  on  high,"  and  he  sees  himself  "  within  the  arms 
of  grace  and  mercy ;"  and,  though  he  was  "  before 
afraid  to  think  of  a  dying  hour,"  yet  now  he  "  cries, 
4  Let  me  die  !'  " 

Alleyne  once  wrote — "  Oh  !  what  a  shame  that 
ever  we  should  live  as  if  GOD  were  not  enough  for 
us,  without  anything  else !"  Bunyan  now  is  to  enter 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  59 

on  a  course  which  shall  "  declare  plainly"  what  God 
is  to  him.  "  At  this  time,"  says  he,  "  I  saw  more  in 
these  words,  i  heirs  of  God,'  than  ever  I  shall  be  able 
to  express  while  I  live  in  this  world.  *  Heirs  of  God  !' 
God  Himself  is  the  portion  of  the  saints.  This  I  saw 
and  wondered  at,  but  cannot  tell  what  I  saw."  But 
his  life  is  to  tell — his  earnest  labors,  and  his  calm 
patience,  and  his  heroic  self-denial.* 

*  Following  Bunyan's  own  order,  we  have  somewhat  ante- 
dated the  latter  part  of  these  temptations.  His  first  two 
years  of  preaching  preceded  his  full  establishment  in  the 
joy  and  peace  of  the  Gospel 


CHAPTER  X. 

*  He  yearned  once  more  on  men." 


God's  vessels—"  Thrust  forth1'— First  preaching— His  "  orders'1— The 
honey  and  the  lion — Bowels  of  pity — Divine  signature — Sccno  in 
churchyard— The  student— Yearnings— Self-love  and  its  refuges 
—"Not  many  fathers"— Fruits— "  Our  joy"— "  The  net"— Homely 
Saxon— Genial  soul— "  Pleading  with  men." 

A  HOLY  man  of  God  once  uttered  this  aspira- 
tion : — 

"  Wherefore  I  dare  not,  I,  put  forth  my  hand 

To  hold  the  ark ;  although  it  seems  to  shake, 
Through  the  old  sins  and  new  doctrines  of  our  land, 
Only — since  God  doth  often  vessels  make, 
Of  lowly  matter,  for  high  uses  meet — 

I  throw  me  at  His  feet. 
There  will  I  lie ;  until  my  Maker  seek 
For  some  mean  stuff,  whereon  to  show  His  skill : 
Then  is  my  time." 

Like  all  true  laborers  in  God's  harvest,  Bunyan  is 
"  thrust  forth"  by  the  Divine  hand. 

The  intimation  comes  through  the  little  company 
of  saints  at  Bedford.  It  is  after  he  "  has  been  five 
or  six  years  awakened,"  and,  has  tk  seen  both  the 
want  and  the  worth  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  has  been 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  61 

enabled  to  venture  his  soul  upon  Him,"  that  "  some 
of  the  most  able  among  them  for  judgment  and  holi- 
ness of  life,"  "  perceiving  that  God  had  counted  him 
worthy  to  understand  something  of  His  will  in  His 
holy  and  blessed  Word,"  and  had  given  him  utter- 
ance in  some  measure  to  express  to  others  for  edifi- 
cation the  things  which  he  had  seen,  "  desire  him, 
with  much  earnestness,  to  take  in  hand,  in  one  of 
the  meetings,  to  speak  a  word  of  exhortation  to 
them."  The  proposal  "  does  much  dash  and  abash 
his  spirit ;"  though  at  length  he  consents,  "  in  two 
several  assemblies  (but  in  private)  twice  to  discover 
his  gift  amongst  them." 

The  tinker  has  no  "  orders,"  such  as  colleges  and 
ecclesiastics  confer ;  but  He  who  has  called  him  to 
His  feet,  and  has  forgiven  him  all  his  sins,  gives  him 
His  commission — "  Go  and  preach  to  every  crea- 
ture." And  the  mouth  which  He  has  opened,  who 
may  dare  to  shut  ?  "  The  people,"  says  Bunyan, 
referring  to  the  two  occasions  just  named,  "  not  only 
seemed  to  be,  but  did  frequently  protest,  as  in  the 
sight  of  the  great  God,  that  they  were  both  affected 
and  comforted  ;  and  they  gave  thanks  to  the  Father 
of  mercies  for  the  grace  bestowed  on  me." 

He  next  "  accompanies  these  men  when  they  go 
forth  into  the  neighboring  villages" — where,  though 
as  yet  he  does  not  venture  to  "  make  use  of  his  gift 
in  an  open  way,"  he  yet  "  sometimes  speaks  a  word 
of  admonition,7'  to  the  great  joy  and  edification  of 
souls.  And  no  wonder  souls  are  gladdened.  His 
0 


62  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

lips  distil  the  "  honey  which  he  has  taken  out  of  the 
carcass  of  a  lion."  "  I  have  eaten  thereof,"  he  says, 
alluding  to  the  manner  in  which  God  has  educated 
him  by  his  peculiar  inward  trials  and  temptations, 
"  and  have  been  much  refreshed  thereby.  Tempta- 
tions, when  we  meet  them  at  first,  are  as  the  lion 
that  roared  upon  Samson  ;  but,  if  we  overcome  them, 
we  shall  find  a  nest  of  honey  within  them."  He  has 
overcome  ;  and,  more  than  conqueror,  he  brings  from 
the  spoiler  fatness. 

Now,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year,  he  is  set  apart  by 
the  Church,  with  fasting  and  prayer,  to  "  the  more 
ordinary  and  public  preaching  of  the  Word."  Feel- 
ing in  his  mind  "  evidently"  a  "  secret  pricking  for- 
ward thereto,"  though  "  with  great  fear  and  trembling 
at  the  sight  of  his  own  weakness,"  he  "  does  set  to 
the  work."  And  He  who  "  openeth  and  none  shut- 
teth,"  gives  him  for  a  season  a  door  of  utterance, 
"wide  and  effectual"  to  his  heart's  content.  The 
people  flock  into  Bedford  by  hundreds  and  by  thou- 
sands, to  hear  the  tinker  and  his  burning  message. 

Trained  for  his  mission  in  God's  own  school,  his 
hands  have  been  taught  to  war,  and  his  fingers  to 
fight.  "I  thank  God,"  says  he,  "He  gives  unto  me 
some  measure  of  bowels  and  pity  for  the  people's 
souls,  which  also  does  put  me  forward  to  labor  with 
great  diligence  and  earnestness,  to  find  out  such  a 
word  as  may,  if  God  will  bless  it,  lay  hold  of  and 
awakon  the  conscience."  And  howpiteouslyhe  pleads 
with  the  awakened ! 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  63 

;l  Arise,  sad  heart !  if  them  dost  not  withstand, 

Christ's  resurrection  thine  may  be. 
Do  not,  by  hanging  down,  break  from  the  hand, 
Which,  as  it  riseth,  raiseth  thee. 
Arise,  arise  1 
And  with  His  burial-linen  dry  thine  eyes, 

Christ  left  His  grave-clothes,  that  we  might,  when  grief 
Draws  tears  or  blood,  not  want  a  handkerchief." 

And  not  unblest  are  his  gracious  words.  "  The 
good  Lord,"  says  he,  "  had  respect  to  the  desire  of 
His  servant ;  for  I  had  not  preached  long  before 
some  began  to  be  touched  and  be  greatly  afflicted  in 
their  minds  at  the  apprehension  of  the  greatness  of 
their  sin,  and  of  their  need  of  Jesus  Christ.  At  first, 
he  cannot  believe  that  God  should  speak  by  him  to 
the  heart  of  any  man,  "  still  counting  himself  un- 
worthy." The  divine  signature  to  the  work,  how- 
ever, is  too  real  to  be  mistaken  ;  and  though  he  still 
"  puts  it  from  him  that  they  should  be  awakened  by 
him,  he  begins  to  conclude  that  it  may  be  so,  that 
God  has  owned  such  a  foolish  one."  He  now,  there- 
fore, has  joy ;  the  very  tears  of  the  awakened  both 
solacing  and  encouraging  him.  And  these  things 
are  another  argument  to  him,  that  God  has  called 
him  to  this  work,  and  stands  by  him  in  it. 

One  summer  evening,  in  a  rustic  parish  in  Cam- 
bridgeshire, a  thoughtless  under-graduate  is  riding 
along  the  highway,  when  his  attention  is  arrested 
by  a  gathering  of  people  assembled  in  a  church- 
yard. On  a  gravestone  stands  a  plain  working- 


64  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

man,  addressing  the  vast  crowd.  Every  eye  is  fixed 
intently  on  the  speaker ;  and  a  strange  solemnity — 
still  as  the  grave  over  which  he  stands — pervades 
the  motley  group. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  whispers  the  student,  scarcely 
able  to  catch  the  ear,  for  a  moment,  of  a  lad  who 
hangs  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

"  It's  the  Bedford  tinker,"  replies  the  lad,  in  a 
tone  of  impatience,  as  if  marvelling  at  such  a  ques- 
tion. 

The  student  dismounts,  and  listens  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, a  sneer  curling  on  his  lip.  But,  as  the 
preacher  proceeds,  the  lip  begins  to  quiver,  and 
the  tear  to  tremble  in  his  eye ; — it  is  the  u  deer 
hit  of  the  archer."  A  year  or  two  later,  and  the 
mocking  gownsman  is  a  bold  preacher  of  Christ. 

Richard  Baxter,  in  his  "Reformed  Pastor,"  puts 
this  question — "  Is  it  not  the  great  and  lamentable 
sin  of  the  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  that  they  are  not 
fully  devoted  to  God,  and  give  not  up  themselves 
and  all  that  they  have  to  the  carrying  on  of  the 
blessed  work  which  they  have  undertaken?"  If 
ever  a  preacher  avoided  this  sin,  it  was  Bunyan. 
"  When  I  have  been  preaching,"  he  says,  "  I  thank 
God  my  heart  hath  often,  all  the  time  of  this  and 
of  the  other  exercise,  with  great  earnestness  cried 
to  God  that  He  would  make  the  Word  effectual  to 
the  salvation  of  the  soul — still  being  grieved  lest 
the  enemy  should  take  the  Word  away  from  the  con- 
science, and  so  it  should  become  unfruitful."  And 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  65 

he  adds : — "When  I  have  done  the  exercise,  it  hath 
gone  to  my  heart  to  think  the  Word  should  now  fall 
as  rain  on  stony  places — still  wishing  from  my  heart, 
4 Oh!  that  they  who  have  heard  mo  speak  this  day 
did  but  see,  as  I  do,  what  sin,  death,  hell,  and  the 
curse  of  God  is ;  and  also  what  the  grace,  and  love, 
and  mercy  of  God  is,  through  Christ,  to  men  in  such 
a  case  as  they  are,  who  are  yet  estranged  from  Him  !' 
And,  indeed,  I  did  often  say  in  my  heart  before  the 
Lord,  l  That  if  to  be  hanged  up  presently  before  their 
eyes  would  be  a  means  to  awaken  them,  and  to  confirm 
them  in  the  truth,  I  gladly  should  be  contented.' " 

And  he  is  "  unto  God  a  sweet  savour  of  Christ." 
"  I  have  been,"  says  he,  "  in  my  preaching,  espe- 
cially when  I  have  been  engaged  in  the  doctrine  of 
life  by  Christ  without  works,  as  if  an  angel  of  God 
had  stood  by  at  my  back  to  encourage  me."  And, 
again  : — "  It  pleased  me  nothing  to  see  people  drink 
in  opinions,  if  they  seemed  ignorant  of  Jesus  Christ 
and  of  the  worth  of  their  own  salvation — of  sound 
conviction  for  sin,  especially  for  unbelief — of  a  heart 
set  on  fire  to  be  saved  by  Christ,  with  strong  breath- 
ings after  a  sanctified  soul.  That  it  was  which  de- 
lighted me  ;  those  were  the  souls  I  counted  blessed." 

"  Self-love,"  writes  Isaac  Taylor,  "  finds  much  ali- 
ment in  the  argument  which  is  to  end  in  showing 
that  another — a  former  guide — has  been  the  cause 
of  whatever  is  blameworthy  in  the  disciple."  Bunyan 
is  too  intent  on  his  great  errand  to  give  to  the  con- 
science any  such  shelter.  His  one  enemy  is  sin ; 
6* 


66  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

and,  in  taking  the  field  against  that  enemy,  he  finds 
in  every  conscience  a  judge  ready  to  pronounce  a 
sentence  of  immediate  self-condemnation.  "  I  never 
care,"  he  says,  "  to  meddle  with  things  which  are 
controverted,  especially  things  of  the  lowest  nature  ; 
I  let  them  alone,  because  I  see  that  they  engender 
strife,  and  because  neither  in  the  doing  of  them,  nor 
in  the  leaving  them  undone,  do  they  commend  us 
to  God  to  be  His.  I  see  my  work  before  me  does 
run  into  another  channel,  even  to  carry  an  awakening 
word ;  to  that,  therefore,  I  do  stick  and  adhere." 
And  he  adds — "It  pleases  me  much  to  contend 
with  great  earnestness  for  the  word  of  faith  and  the 
remission  of  sins  by  the  sufferings  and  death  of 
Jesus." 

It  was  Paul's  complaint  of  the  Church  at  Corinth, 
that,  though  not  without  abundance  of  "  instructors 
in  Christ,"  they  had  "  not  many  fathers."  Bunyan 
"  never  can  be  satisfied,  unless  some  fruits  do  appear 
in  his  work."  u  If  I  be  fruitless,"  says  he,  "  it  matters 
not  who  commends  me ;  but  if  I  be  fruitful,  I  care 
not  who  condemns."  And  again  :  "  I  have  counted 
it  as  if  I  had  goodly  buildings  and  lordships  in  those 
places  where  my  children  were  born ;  my  heart  hath 
been  so  wrapped  up  in  the  glory  of  this  excellent 
work,  that  I  count  myself  more  blessed  and  honored 
of  God  by  this  than  if  He  had  made  me  the  emperor 
of  the  Christian  world,  or  the  lord  of  all  the  glory  of 
the  earth,  without  it.  Oh!  these  words,  4He  that 
converteth  a  soul  from  the  error  of  his  way  doth  save 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  67 

a  soul  from  death :'  *  He  that  winneth  souls  is  wise ;' 
4  For,  what  is  our  hope,  our  joy,  our  crown  of  rejoic- 
ing ?  Are  not  even  ye  in  the  presence  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  at  His  coming  ?' " 

It  is  at  His  word  that  he  "  lets  down  the  net."  "  I 
have  observed,"  says  he,  "  that  where  I  have  had  a 
work  to  do  for  God,  I  have  had  first,  as  it  were,  the 
going  of  God  upon  my  spirit  to  desire  I  might  preach 
there  :  I  have  also  observed,  that  such  and  such  souls 
in  particular  have  been  strongly  set  upon  my  heart, 
and  I  stirred  up  to  wish  for  their  salvation  ;  and  that 
these  very  souls  have,  after  this,  been  given  me  as 
the  fruits  of  my  ministry."  And  he  adds  :  "  I  have 
observed  that  a  word,  cast  in  by  the  bye,  hath  done 
more  execution  in  a  sermon,  than  all  that  was  spoken 
besides.  Sometimes  also,  when  I  have  thought 

'  o 

I  did  no  good,  then  I  did  the  most  of  all ;  and  at 
other  times,  when  I  thought  I  should  catch  them,  I 
have  fished  for  nothing." 

It  is  thus  that  "  for  about  the  space  of  five  years" 
this  true  minister  labors,  night  and  day  for  souls. 
"  How  much  learning,"  said  Leighton  one  day  to 
some  of  his  clergy,  "  is  required  to  make  these  things 
plain !"  The  "  tinker  has  no  learning  from  human 
schools ;  but  he  has  sat  at  Christ's  feet,  and  has 
learned  of  HIM."  And  this,  with  his  homely  Saxon 
and  his  genial  soul,  opened  a  way  for  him  into  the 
hearts  and  understandings  at  once  of  the  rude  coun- 
try bumpkin,  and  of  the  refined  and  accomplished 
graduate.  Like  his  own  picture  in  the  house  of  the 


68  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

Interpreter,  his  eye  is  lifted  up  to  heaven,  the  best 
of  books  is  in  his  hand,  the  law  of  truth  is  written 
upon  his  lips,  the  world  is  behind  his  back,  a  crown 
of  gold  hangs  over  his  head,  and  he  stands  pleading 
with  men — 

"  As  meek  as  the  man  Moses,  and  withal 
As  in  Agrippa's  presence  Paul" 


CHAPTEK  XI. 


u  These  walls  and  bars  cannot  a  prison  make ; 
The  free-born  soul  enjoys  its  liberty  : 
These  clods  of  earth  it  may  incaptivate — 
Whilst  heavenly  minds  are  conversant,  on  high 
Hanging  the  fields  of  bless' d  eternity." 


The  ancient  prison — Howard — Banyan's  ring — A  scene  at  Samsell — 
The  warrant — The  "close" — The  "Forlorn  hope" — The  prayer — The 
constable — The  parting — The  Justice-room — "What  arms?" — The 
bond — The  "  mittimus" — The  Judas-kiss — To  prison. 

IN  the  town  of  Bedford,  on  one  of  the  central  piers 
of  the  rude  bridge  across  the  Ouse,  there  stood,  in 
those  days,  an  ancient  prison.  A  century  later,  it 
was  visited  by  Howard,  who  found  the  felons,  men 
and  women,  associated  together  in  a  court  not  wider 
than  fourteen  feet,  and  at  night  huddled  into  two 
dungeons  sunk  within  the  piers — only  one  court  for 
debtors  and  for  felons,  and  no  apartment  for  the 
jailor.  The  visit  of  Howard  was  its  death-warrant ; 
for,  in  a  few  more  years,  it  was  razed  to  the  ground. 
In  removing  the  floor  of  one  of  the  dungeons,  the 
workmen  discovered  Bunyan's  ring. 

How  came  he  there  ?  Had  the  tinker  lapsed 
into  his  old  ways,  and  merited  a  felon's  brand  ? 


70  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

It  is  a  winter  evening ;  and  we  are  in  the  kitchen 
of  a  farm-steading,  adjoining  the  village  of  Harling- 
ton,  in  Bedfordshire.  After  the  labors  of  the  day, 
the  rustics  are  gathering,  grand-dames  and  children, 
old  men  and  maidens — each  countenance  lighted 
with  an  unwonted  gladness,  as  if  a  joy  not  often 
tasted  were  in  store.  It  is  Bunyan  who  is  coming 
to  preach  the  Word,  arid  to  speak  a  word  in  season 
to  the  weary. 

And  yet  a  strange  restlessness  pervades  the  little 
gathering ;  for  some  mysterious  whisperings  are  abroad 
that  a  "  warrant"  is  out,  to  silence  the  preacher  and 
to  hurry  him  off  to  jail.  As  the  darkness  conies  on, 
certain  suspicious  visitors  have  been  seen  prowling 
stealthily  about,  as  if  watching  for  some  expected 
prey.  And  now  that  the  place  is  filling,  the  farmer, 
grown  somewhat  timorous,  is  conferring  with  his  wife 
and  with  one  of  the  shrewder  neighbors,  whether 
they  had  not  better  separate  and  warn  their  friend 
not  to  come  out  to-night. 

But  there  he  is !  All  rise  to  welcome  him,  and 
his  manly  face  has  a  radiant  smile  for  all. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Bunyan,"  whispers  the  master,  hurry- 
ing up  to  him  with  an  agitated,  anxious  air,  "  there's 
a  warrant  out  against  you  ;  the  officers  are  about ; 
and  we  must  separate  at  once,  or  you  will  be  seized 
and  imprisoned." 

"  What  ?"  says  Bunyan,  with  the  bold,  decisive 
tone  of  a  man  who  has  counted  the  cost ;  "  I  will 
not  stir,  neither  will  I  have  the  meeting  dismissed 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  .    , 

for  this.  Come,  be  of  good  cheer ;  let  us  not  be 
daunted  ;  our  cause  is  good,  we  need  not  be  ashamed 
of  it :  to  preach  God's  Word  is  so  good  a  work  that 
\ve  shall  be  well  rewarded  if  we  suffer  for  that." 

Before  beginning,  however,  he  "  walks  into  the 
close,"  to  lay  the  matter  calmly  before  his  God.  "  I 
have  showed  myself,"  is  his  quiet  soliloquy,  as  he 
confers  with  his  brave  spirit,  "  hearty  and  courageous 
in  my  preaching,  and  have,  blessed  be  grace,  made 
it  my  business  to  encourage  others ;  therefore,  if  I 
should  now  run  and  make  an  escape,  it  will  be  of  a 
very  ill  savor  in  the  country.  For,  what  will  my 
weak  and  newly-converted  brethren  think  of  it  ?  but 
that  I  was  not  as  strong  in  deed  as  I  was  in  word. 
Also,  if  I  should  run  now  that  there  is  a  warrant  out 
for  me,  may  not  I  make  them  afraid  to  stand  when 
only  great  words  are  spoken  to  them  ?  Besid  es, 
since  God  of  His  mercy  would  have  me  go  upon 
the  forlorn  hope,  might  not  my  flight  be  a  dis- 
couragement to  the  whole  body  that  may  follow 
after  ?  And  further,  might  not  the  world  take  oc- 
casion, at  my  cowardliness,  to  blaspheme  the  Gos- 
pel, and  have  some  ground  to  suspect  worse  of  me 
and  of  my  profession  than  I  deserve  ?"  His  mind 
made  up  and  stayed  on  his  God,  he  returns  into  the 
house,  "  with  a  full  resolution  to  keep  the  meeting," 
and  to  "  see  the  utmost  of  what  they  can  say  or  do 
unto  him.  For,  blessed  be  the  Lord,"  he  adds,  *'  I 
know  of  no  evil  which  I  have  said  or  done." 

The  preacher  enters.     All  fall  upon  their  knees. 


f  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

<nd,  oh  !  how  each  heart  pours  itself  out  before  the 
Lord  !— 

"  Of  what  supreme,  almighty  power, 
Is  thy  great  arm — which  spans  the  East,  and  West, 

And  tacks  the  centre  to  the  sphere  I 
By  it,  do  all  things  live  their  measur'd  hour  ; 
We  cannot  ask  the  thing  which  is  not  there." 

And  will  He  not  restrain  this  wrath  of  man,  and 
shield  His  servant  ? 

Scarcely  have  they  risen  from  their  knees,  and 
opened  their  Bibles  and  the  text  been  announced, 
"  Dost  thou  believe  on  the  Son  of  God  ?"  (so  fitting 
a  preparative  for  those  stern  trials  which  are  at 
hand ;  for  the  words  were  the  balm  applied  by  the 
Master  to  the  torn  heart  of  that  despised  castaway),* 
— when  "  the  constable  and  the  justice's  man"  come 
in,  and,  presenting  the  warrant,  demand  that  he 
shall  follow  them. 

"  But  stay,"  says  Bunyan,  turning  again  to  the 
startled  company,  "  one  parting  word."  The  officers 
are  silent,  and  he  proceeds — "  We  are  prevented,  you 
see,  of  our  opportunity  to  speak  and  to  bear  the 
Word  of  God,  and  are  like  to  suffer  for  the  same. 
But  be  not  discouraged,  my  dear  brethren ;  it  is  a 
mercy  to  suffer  upon  so  good  account.  We  might 
have  been  apprehended  as  thieves  or  murderers,  or 
for  other  wickedness ;  but,  blessed  be  God,  it  is  not 
so — we  suffer  as  Christians  for  well-doing,  and  wo, 
had  better  be  the  persecuted  than  tbe  persecutors." 
*  John,  LS-.  34. 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  73 

"  We  must  away,"  shouts  the  constable,  interrupt- 
ing him.  And  the  humble  gathering  rise,  following 
their  beloved  teacher  with  their  tears. 

The  scene  changes;  and  we  are  in  the  Justice- 
room  at  Bedford.  It  is  the  time  of  the  Restoration  ; 
and  England's  noblest  sons  are  paying  the  penalty 
of  patriotism  and  of  Christian  steadfastness,  at  the 
beck  of  a  dissolute  court  and  of  a  sycophant  magis- 
tracy. A  fitting  tool  is  found  at  Bedford,  in  the 
person  of  Justice  Wingate^ 

"  What  has  he  done  ?"  is  his  interrogatory,  as  the 
constable  conducts  his  prisoner  into  court :  "  where 
were  they  met  ?  what  had  they  with  them  ?"  mean- 
ing, what  arms  ? 

"  I  found  him  at  Samsell ;  there  were  no  arms, 
but  they  had  Bibles  ;  and  the  prisoner  was  just  be- 
ginning to  preach." 

•  u  Well,  prisoner,"  rejoins  the  Justice,  gruffly, 
turning  to  Bunyan,  "  what  say  you  ?  why  don't  you 
keep  to  your  calling  ?  You  are  breaking  the  law." 

"  I  go  to  these  places,"  says  he,  respectfully  but 
firmly,  "to  instruct,  the  people,  and  to  counsel  them 
to  forsake  their  sins  and  close  in  with  Christ,  lest 
they  miserably  perish ;  and  I  find  I  can  without 
confusion  both  follow  my  calling  and  preach  the 
Word." 

u  What !"  exclaims  the  justice  in  a  chafe,  and 
losing  his  self-possession;  "but  I'll  break  the  neck 
of  your  meetings.  That  I  will." 

44  It  may  be  so,"  says  Bunyan,  calmly. 


74  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

"  Produce  your  sureties,  or  you  must  go  to  jail." 

Two  friends  stand  forward,  and  give  bail  for  his 
appearance  at  the  sessions — the  justice  adding — 
"  And  remember,  you  are  bound  to  keep  him  from 
preaching  ;  if  he  preaches  your  bonds  are  forfeited." 

"  Then  I  shall  break  them,"  interposes  Bunyan  ; 
"for  I  shall  not  leave  speaking  the  Word  of  God — 
to  counsel,  comfort,  exhort,  and  teach  the  people 
among*  whom  I  come.  And  I  thought  this  to  be  a 
work  that  had  no  hurt  in  it,  but  was  worthy  rather 
of  commendation  than  of  blame." 

"  I  tell  you,  if  they  will  not  be  so  bound,  your 
mittimus  must  be  made,  and  you  shall  go  to  prison." 

At  last  the  order  is  made  out,  and  the  constable 
leads  him  off.  A  crowd  lias  gathered,  as  the  news  has 
got  abroad ;  and  we  join  it  as  it  convoys  him  along. 

"  Stay  !"  whisper  two  "  brethren,"  who  have  just 
come  up  in  breathless  haste,  and  are  addressing  the 
constable  with  an  air  of  authority,  "  we  must  go  back 
to  the  Justice."  And,  as  Bunyan  and  the  officers 
slowly  return,  the  two  friends  joined  by  a  third, 
hasten  forward  to  the  Justice's  house. 

"  If  you  will  just  say  a  few  words,"  whispers  one 
of  them  to  Bunyan,  running  out  from  the  house  to 
meet  him,  "  it  will  be  all  right,  and  you  shall  be  re- 
leased." 

"  If  the  words  are  such,"  he  replies,  "  as  may  be 
said  with  a  good  conscience,  I  shall ;  otherwise,  I 
cannot."  And  as  he  enters,  he  "  lifts  up  his  heart  to 
God  for  light  and  strength,  to  be  kept,  that  he  ma>' 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  75 

not  do  anything  which  shall  either  dishouer  Him,  or 
wrong  his  own  soul,  or  be  a  grief  or  discourage- 
ment to  any  inclining  after  the  Lord  Jesus  Chiist." 

It  is  the  old  policy,  tried  sixteen  centimes  before 
with  the  fisherman — "  Speak  no  more  in  this  name." 
Affecting  great  kindness,  a  new  personage  appears 
on  the  scene,  and  accosts  "  Bunyan  with  such  seem- 
ing affection  as  if  he  would  have  leaped  on  his  neck 
and  kissed  him." 

"  If  you  will  but  promise,"  says  this  new  meddler, 
fawningly,  "  to  call  the  people  no  more  together,  you 
shall  have  your  liberty  to  go  home  ;  for  my  brother 
is  very  loath  to  send  you  to  prison,  if  you  will  but 
be  ruled." 

"  Sir,"  said  Bunyan,  "  pray  what  do  you  mean  by 
calling  the  people  together?  My  business  is  not 
anything  among  them,  when  they  are  come  together, 
but  to  exhort  them  to  look  after  the  salvation  of  their 
souls,  that  they  may  be  saved." 

"  There  are  none  but  a  company  of  poor,  simple, 
ignorant  people  come  to  hear  you.  Will  you  prom- 
ise that  you  will  not  call  them  together  any  more  ?" 

"  The  foolish  and  the  ignorant  have  most  need  of 
teaching.  I  durst  not  leave  off  the  work  which  God 
has  called  me  to." 

The  Justice  and  his  friend,  after  conferring  in  an 
adjoining  room,  once  more  repeat  the  demand  ;  but 
Bunyan  is  not  to  be  moved.  "Then  he  must  go  to 
prison,"  says  Mr.  Foster,  addressing  the  Justice  ;  "  and 
the  sooner  the  others  follow  him,  the  better." 


76  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

"  Thus  we  parted,"  writes  Bunyan.  "  And  verily, 
as  I  was  going  forth  of  the  door,  I  had  much  ado  to 
forbear  saying  to  them  that  I  carried  the  peace  of 
God  along  with  me;  but  I  held  my  peace,  and, 
blessed  be  the  Lord,  went  away  to  prison  with 
God's  comfort  in  my  poor  soul." 

It  is  on  November  12,  1660,  and  in  his  thirty- 
second  year. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"They  departed  from  the  presence  of  the  council,  rejoicing  that 
they  were  counted  worthy  to  suffer  shame  for  His  name." — Acts,  v.  41. 

"  Ay  1  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  spot  where  first  they  trod ! 
They  left  unstained  what  they  had  found^ 
Freedom  to  worship  God." 


The  "  Den" — Gate  of  heaven — Home-affections — Bitterest  pang — "  My 
poor  blind  one"—"  Must  do  it1'— Indictment— Felon's  dock— The 
Justices— Examination— "Canting"— Sentence— "Home  to  prison" 
Prison-Rhymes — "  Much  content." 


HE  is  now  in  the  "  Den ;"  but  it  is  the  gate  of 
heaven  to  him.  "  I  never  in  my  life,"  says  he,  "  had 
so  great  an  inlet  into  the  Word  as  now.  Those 
Scriptures  which  I  saw  nothing  in  before,  are  made 
in  this  place  and  state  to  shine  upon  me.  Jesus 
Christ  also  was  never  more  real  or  apparent  than 
now  :  here  I  have  seen  and  felt  Him  indeed." 

Bunyan  has  a  heart  for  home-affections.  One  of 
our  poets  has  written  of  the  domestic  hearth — 

"0  happy  lot,  and  hallowed  even  as  the  joy  of  angels, 
Where  the  golden  chain  of  godliness  is  entwined  with  the 
roses  of  love !" 

Such  a  home  has  Bunyan ;  and  the  bitterest  pang  of 

7* 


78  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

this  hour  is  the  rude  disruption  of  its  lowly  joys. 
44  The  parting  with  my  wife  and  poor  children,"  he 
says,  "  hath  often  been  to  me,  in  this  place,  as  the 
pulling  the  flesh  from  my  bones,  and  that  not  only 
because  I  am  somewhat  too  fond  of  these  great 
mercies,  but  also  because  I  should  often  have 
brought  to  mind  the  many  hardships,  miseries,  and 
wants  that  my  poor  family  was  like  to  meet  with, 
should  I  be  taken  from  them,  especially  my  poor 
blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  my  heart  than  all  be- 
side. Oh  !  the  thoughts  of  the  hardship  I  thought 
my  poor  blind  one  might  go  under,  would  break  my 
heart  in  pieces." 

Often,  often  does  this  thought  rend  his  sensitively 
tender  heart.  "  Poor  child !"  he  whispers  to  him- 
self, in  the  solitude  of  that  dismal  dungeon,  "  what 
sorrow  art  thou  like  to  have  for  thy  portion  in  this 
world !  Thou  must  be  beaten,  must  beg,  must  suffer 
hunger,  cold,  nakedness,  and  a  thousand  calamities, 
though  I  cannot  now  endure  the  wind  should  blow 
upon  thee." 

But,  "  recalling  himself,"  he  "  ventures  them  all 
with  his  God ;"  "  though  it  goeth  to  the  quick," 
he  adds,  "  to  leave  them."  This  is  his  infirmity — 
though  a  noble  one,  and  not  displeasing  to  the  Lord. 
"  Oh  !  I  saw  in  this  condition,"  says  he,  "  I  was  as  a 
man  who  was  pulling  down  his  house  upon  the  head 
of  his  wife  and  children :  yet,  thought  I,  I  must  do 
it — I  must  do  it ;  and  now  I  thought  on  those  two 
milch-kine  which  were  to  carry  the  ark  of  God  into 


JOHN    BUNT  AN.  79 

another  country,  and  to  leave  their  calves  behind 
them." 

After  seven  weeks'  confinement,  he  is  indicted 
before  the  quarter-sessions.  Let  us  take  our  place 
at  the  felon's  side — it  is  good  to  be  in  such  com- 
panionship. 

It  is  a  cold  winter  morning  in  January  :*  but  the 
people  are  up  betimes;  for  many  warm  hearts  are 
there,  each  man  wishing  that  he  himself  might  have 
"  that  preferment,"  and  whispering  like  his  own  Pil- 
grim when  Faithful  was.  in  the  dock  at  Vanity  Fair — 

"  Now,  brother,  play  the  man,  speak  for  thy  God, 
Fear  not  the  wicked's  malice,  nor  the  rod : 
Speak  boldly,  man !  the  truth  is  on  thy  side  ; 
Die  for  it,  and  to  life  in  triumph  ride." 

The  "  Hate-goods,"  too,  are  there,  in  the  shape  of 
some  half-dozen  justices,  "  in  order  to  his  condemna- 
tion." As  they  take  their  seats,  a  strange  terror 
seems  to  seize  them,  as  if  themselves  consciously 
the  culprits  before  another  tribunal,  whose  decisions 
are  already  foreshadowed  in  the  heart's  dark  ahani- 
bers.  And  that  felon,  they  feel  involuntarily,  is,  in 
truth,  beyond  their  jurisdiction.  No  heavenly  halo 
is  there,  to  proclaim  his  real  citizenship  ;  but  the 
calm,  sublime  repose  with  which  he  abides  his 
doom — the  poor  ministers  of  Satan  quail  before  it 
and  tremble. 

The   indictment  is  read.     "  My  Lord,"  said   the 
*  1661. 


80  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

accuser,  at,  the  trial  of  Faithful,  "  this  man,  notwith- 
standing his  plausible  name,  is  one  of  the  vilest  men 
in  our  country.  He  neither  regardeth  princes  nor 
people,  law  nor  custom,  but  doth  all  that  he  can  to 
possess  all  men  with  certain  of  his  disloyal  notions, 
which  he  in  the  general  calls  principles  of  faith  and 
holiness.  And,  in  particular,  I  heard  him  once  my- 
self affirm  that  Christianity  and  the  customs  of  our 
town  of  Vanity  were  diametrically  opposite,  and 
could  not  be  reconciled.  By  which  saying,  my 
lord,  he  doth  at  once  not  only  condemn  all  our 
laudable  doings,  but  us  in  the  doing  of  them." 
This  other  Faithful  is  charged  as  follows  : — "  That 
John  Bunyan,  of  the  town  of  Bedford,  laborer,  hath 
devilishly  and  perniciously  abstained  from  coming 
to  church  to  hear  divine  service,  and  is  a  common 
upholder  of  several  unlawful  meetings  and  conventi- 
cles, to  the  great  disturbance  and  distraction  of 
the  good  subjects  of  this  kingdom,  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  our  sovereign  lord  the  king."  And,  having 
read  the  charge,  the  clerk  asks,  "  What  say  you  to 
this  ?" 

"As  to  the  first  part  of  it,"  answers  Bunyan,  UI 
am  a  common  frequenter  of  the  Church  of  God,  and 
also,  by  grace,  a  member  with  the  people  over  whom 
Christ  is  the  Head." 

"  But  do  you  come  to  church  3"  interposes  the 
presiding  justice;  "you  know  what  I  mean ;  to  the 
parish  church,  to  hear  diviue  service?" 

"  No,  I  do  not." 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  81 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  do  not  find  it  commanded  in  the 
Word  of  God." 

"  We  are  commanded  to  pray." 

"  But  not  by  the  Common  Prayer-book." 

"  How  then  ?" 

u  With  the  Spirit.  As  the  Apostle  saith,  '  I  will 
pray  with  the  Spirit,  and  with  the  understanding.' " 

"  But  we  may  pray  with  the  Spirit,  and  with 
understanding,  and  with  the  Common  Prayer-book 
also." 

"  Sir,  the  Scripture  saith,  that  *  it  is  the  Spirit  thnt 
helpeth  our  infirmities ;  for  we  know  not  what  we 
should  pray  for  as  we  ought ;  but  the  Spirit  itself 
maketh  intercession  for  us.'  Mark,  it  cloth  not  say 
the  Common  Prayer-book  teacheth  us  how  to  pray, 
but  the  Spirit.  And  it  is  the  Spirit  that  4  helpeth 
our  infirmities,'  saith  the  Apostle ;  he  doth  not  say 
it  is  the  Common  Prayer-book." 

"At  this,"  he  says,  "they  were  set."  And  he 
added :  "  But  yet,  notwithstanding,  they  that  have 
a  mind  to  use  it,  they  have  liberty  ;  that  is,  I  would 
not  keep  them  from  it — but,  for  our  parts,  we  can 
pray  to  God  without  it.  Blessed  be  His  name  !" 

"  Who  is  your  God  ?  Beelzebub  ?"  exclaims  a  Mr. 
No-good,  sneeringly.  "You  are  possessed  with  a 
devil." 

"  Blessed  be  the  Lord  for  it,"  replies  Bunyan,  tak- 
ing no  notice  of  the  taunt,  and  secretly  asking  the 
Lord  to  forgive  it ;  "  we  are  encouraged  to  meet  to- 


82  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

gether,  and  to  pray,  and  to  exhort  one  another ;  for 
we  have  had  the  comfortable  presence  of  God  among 
us,  for  ever  blessed  be  His  holy  name !" 

"  This  is  pedlar's  French :  you  must  leave  off  }~our 
canting." 

"  It  is  lawful  for  me,  and  such  as  I  am,  to  preach 
the  Word  of  God." 

"Prove  it." 

"  By  this  Scripture — '  As  every  man  hath  received 
the  gift,  even  so  let  him  minister  the  same  unto  an- 
other, as  good  stewards  of  the  manifold  grace  of  God. 
If  any  man  speak,  let  him  speak  as  the  oracles  of 

God; " 

"  I  am  not  so  well  versed  in  Scripture  as  to  dis- 
pute ;  but  we  cannot  wait  upon  you  any  longer. 
You  confess  the  indictment,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  This  I  confess — we  have  had  many  meetings  to- 
gether, both  to  pray  to  God,  and  to  exhort  one  an- 
other ;  and  we  have  had  the  sweet,  comforting  pres- 
ence of  the  Lord  among  us  for  our  encouragement, 
blessed  be  His  name :  therefore  I  confess  myself 
guilty,  and  no  otherwise." 

"  Then  hear  your  judgment :  *  You  must  be  had 
back  again  to  prison,  and  there  lie  for  three  months 
following :  and,  at  three  months'  end,  if  you  do  not 
submit  to  go  to  church  to  hear  divine  service,  and 
leave  your  preaching,  yon  must  be  banished  the 
realm  :  And  if,  after  such  a  day  as  shall  be  appointed 
you  to  be  gone,  you  shall  be  found  in  this  realm,  or 
be  found  to  come  over  again  without  special  license 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  83 

from  the  king,  you  must  stretch  by  the  neck  for  it, 
I  tell  you  plainly.'  Jailor,  have  him  away  !" 

"  As  to  this  matter,"  says  Bunyan,  boldly,  as  he 
rises  to  leave  the  dock,  "  I  am  at  a  point  with  you ; 
for,  if  I  were  out  of  prison  •  to-day,  I  would  preach 
the  gospel  again  to-morrow,  by  the  help  of  God." 

And  all  honor  to  thee,  thou  good  confessor  !  This 
shall  be  remembered  one  day,  when  the  Lord  is  dis- 
tributing His  crowns. 

We  rise,  and  follow  him  to  the  "  den."  And  he 
enters  it  with  a  calm  mien ;  for  ANOTHER  is  there, 
whose  approving  smile  is  more  to  him  than  all  hu- 
man frowns.  "  I  can  truly  say,"  he  writes,  "  and  I 
bless  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  for  it,  that  my  heart  was 
sweetly  refreshed  in  the  time  of  my  examination,  and 
also  afterwards  at  my  returning  to  the  prison ;  so 
that  I  found  Christ's  words  more  than  bare  trifles, 
where  He  saith,  '  He  will  give  you  a  mouth  and  wis- 
dom, which  all  your  adversaries  shall  not  be  able  to 
gainsay  nor  resist,'  and,  that i  His  peace  no  man  tak- 
eth  from  us.' " 

And  there  he  kneels  in  his  "  prison-home,"  his 
spirit  not  bound,  but  enlarged  into  a  new  heavenliness 
by  Him  who  knows  how  to  vouchsafe  to  His  tried 
confessors,  even  here,  divinely-solacing  compensations. 
"  Verily,  at  my  return,"  he  says,  "  I  did  meet  my 
God  sweetly  in  the  prison  again,  comforting  of  me, 
and  satisfying  of  me  that  it  was  His  mind  and  will 
that  I  should  be  there."  And,  in  some  of  his  rude 
rhymes,  he  writes : 


84  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

"  For  though  men  keep  my  outward  man 

Within  their  locks  and  bars, 

Yet,  by  the  faith  of  Christ,  I  can 

Mount  higher  than  the  stars. 

"Tis  not  the  baseness  of  this  state 

Doth  hide  us  from  God's  face ; 
He  frequently,  both  soon  and  late, 

Doth  visit  us  with  grace. 

"We  change  our  drossy  dust  for  gold, 

From  death  to  life  we  fly  ; 
We  let  go  shadows,  and  take  hold 

Of  immortality. 

These  be  the  men  that  God  doth  count 

Of  high  and  noble  mind ; 
These  be  the  men  that  do  surmount 

What  you  in  nature  find. 

They  conquer,  when  they  thus  do  fall ; 

They  kill  when  they  do  die ; 
They  overcome  then  most  of  all, 

And  get  the  victory." 

In  those  "  prison-rhymes"  the  martyr  learns  to  sing 
praises  unto  God — "  continuing,  through  grace,  with 
much  content."  "I  have  had  sweet  sights,"  says  he, 
"  of  the  forgiveness  of  my  sins  in  this  place,  and  of 
my  being  with  Jesus  in  another  world.  Oh,  the 
'  Mount  Zion,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  the  innumer- 
able company  of  angels,  and  God  the  Judge  of  all, 
and  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  and  Jesus, 
have  been  sweet  unto  me  in  this  place.  I  have  seen 
that  here,  which  I  am  persuaded  I  shall  never,  while 
in  this  world,  be  able  to  express." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


"  Stone- walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron -bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage." 


The  palace  and  the  prison— The  cell— The  lamp— The  "  Pilgrim'1— 
The  prison  court— The  preacher— The  "three  Jews"— Christ  a  fel- 
low-prisoner—The  "  tagged  laces"— The  visitor— The  sealed  eye- 
balls—The Clerk  of  the  Peace— The  conference. 


"WHILE  the  body  is  in  a  palace,"  says  Foster, 
alluding  to  Peter's  enchainment  in  the  dungeon,  and 
to  the  angel's  visit,  "the  soul  may  be  in  prison; 
whereas,  while  his  body  was  in  a  prison,  his  soul  was 
as  in  a  palace.  And,  even  externally,  he  was  soon  to 
have  such  attendance  there,  as  the  dwellers  in  royal 
and  imperial  mansions  have  not."  Angelic  ministry 
is  suspended  now ;  but  he  who  is  with  us  as  the 
Comforter  has  a  thousand  methods  of  making  the 
wrath  of  man  to  praise  Him. 

Look  into  that  cell !  That  Bible  on  the  rude  table, 
and  that  Concordance,  and  that  book  of  Martyrs ; 
and  that  feeble  sunbeam,  struggling  through  the 
grated  window ;  and  that  dim  lamp,  after  the  sun- 
beam, has  gone;  and  that  undimmed  orb  shining  so 
brilliantly  in  the  confessor's  happy  soul !  by  these 
8 

'*)     *•'•  WMB    ' 


80  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

the  felon  is  to  speak  to  all  time.  "  In  the  prison,** 
is  the  testimony  of  Charles  Doe,  who  visited  him, 
"  he  wrote,  not  only  l  Grace  Abounding,'  i  The  Holy 
City,'  and  other  precious  treatises,  but  also  *  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  First  Part.'  This  I  had  from  his  own 
mouth.  What,"  he  adds,  "  hath  the  devil  or  his  agents 
got  by  putting  our  great  gospel-minister  in  prison?" 

Quitting  for  a  moment  the  little  cell,  we  go  with 
him  into  the  prison-court.  <k  Imagination,"  wrote 
Howard,  visiting  the  place  in  after-years,  "  can 
hardly  realize  the  miseries  of  fifty  or  sixty  pious  men 
and  women,  taken  from  a  place  of  worship,  and  in- 
carcerated in  such  dungeons  with  felons — as  was 
the  case  while  Bunyan  was  a  prisoner.  How  justly 
did  the  poor  pilgrim  call  it  a  *  certain  den  !' "  But 
what  scene  is  this  which  meets  us,  as  we  enter  the 
court?  "When  I  visited  him  in  prison,"  says  the 
eye-witness  already  quoted,  Charles  Doe,  "  there 
were  about  sixty  Dissenters  besides  himself,  and 
two  eminent  Dissenting  ministers,  by  which  means 
the  prison  was  very  much  crowded;  yet,  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  hurry  which  so  many  new-comers 
occasioned,  I  have  heard  Mr.  Bunyan  both  preach 
and  pray  with  that  mighty  spirit  of  faith  and  plero- 
phory  of  Divine  assistance  which  has  made  me 
stand  and  wonder." 

Describing  the  three  confessors  in  the  furnace  at 
Babylon,  Foster  has  written : — "  They  were  seen  act- 
ually associated  with  a  Being  that  belonged  not  to 
the  earth.  That  space  of  fire  was  as  a  tract  of  an- 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  87 

other  world.  They  could  have  no  wish  to  come 
forth.  It  was  the  sublimest,  most  delightful  re- 
gion they  had  ever  dwelt  in  yet.  In  their  state  of 
feeling,  that  burning  floor  was  preferable  to  the  mar- 
ble pavement  of  the  monarch's  superbest  palace." 
And  is  not  the  "den"  of  Bedford  transformed,  by 
the  same  Divine  alchemy,  into  the  very  pavilion  of 
God  ?  "I  never  knew,"  says  Bunyan,  "  what  it  was 
for  God  to  stand  by  me  at  all  turns,  and  at  every 
offer  of  Satan  to  afflict  me,  as  I  have  found  since  I 
came  in  hither;  insomuch  that  I  have  often  said, 
1  Were  it  lawful,  I  could  pray  for  greater  trouble,  for 
the  greater  comfort's  sake.'  "  And  again : — "  I  have 
been  able  to  *  laugh  at  destruction,'  and  to  fear  nei- 
ther the  horse  nor  his  rider." 

"  Oh,  happy  he  who  doth  possess 
Christ  for  a  fellow-prisoner,  who  doth  glad 
"With  heavenly  sunbeams  gaols  that  are  most  sad !" 

But  we  return  with  him  into  the  cell.  It  is  near 
sunset ;  and,  with  the  fading  light,  how  earnestly  he 
labors  at  those  "  tagged  laces,"  to  finish  the  "  gross" 
for  the  day !  A  gentle  knock  at  the  door  announces 
the  expected  visitor.  It  is  his  little  blind  daughter, 
come  for  the  day's  work,  from  which  the  desolate 
family  are  to  obtain  their  precarious  pittance.*  And, 

*  "  In  prison,"  says  Mr.  Wilson,  the  Baptist  minister,  who 
was  his  fellow-prisoner,  "  I  have  been  witness  that  his  own 
hands  ministered  to  his,  and  to  his  family's  necessities,  mak- 
ing many  hundred  gross  of  long-tagged  laces,  to  fill  up  the 
vacancies  of  his  time." 


88  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

oh,  how  pleasant  to  him  are  the  moments  which  this 
dear  child  is  suffered  to  pass  in  the  cell !  Clasping 
her  to  his  bosom,  the  manly  confessor,  whom  no 
menances  can  browbeat,  and  from  whom  no  suffer- 
ings can  extort  a  sigh,  is  dissolved  in  a  flood  of  ten- 
derness as  he  gazes  nightly  on  this  child  !  And  how 
yearningly  he  prays,  as  they  kneel  side  by  side  upon 
the  stone  floor !  These  eye-balls  are  sealed ;  but  the 
heart's  eye — let  the  light  shine  there  ! 

The  three  months  have  now  elapsed,  and  a  visitor 
of  another  kind  is  announced.  It  is  the  "Clerk  of 
the  Peace,"  sent  from  the  justices  to  demand  his 
"  subrnittance." 

"  I  am  come,"  says  he,  "  to  tell  you,  that  it  is 
desired  you  submit  yourself  to  the  laws  of  the  land ; 
or  else  at  the  next  sessions  it  will  go  worse  with  you, 
even  to  be  sent  away  out  of  the  nation,  or  else  worse 
than  that." 

Not  discomposed  by  the  significant  intimation,  the 
confessor  replies  : — "  I  desire  to  demean  myself  in 
the  world  as  becometh  both  a  man  and  a  Chris- 
tian." 

"  But  you  must  submit  to  the  law  of  the  land,  and 
leave  off  those  meetings  which  you  were  wont  to 
have ;  for  the  statute-law  is  directly  against  it,  and 
I  am  sent  to  you  by  the  justices  to  tell  you  that  they 
do  intend  to  prosecute  the  law  against  you,  if  you 
submit  not." 

u  Sir,  I  conceive  that  the  law  by  which  I  am  in 
prison  at  this  time  was  made  against  those  who, 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  89 

designing  to  do  evil  in  their  meetings,  made  the 
exercise  of  religion  a  pretext  to  cover  their  wicked- 
ness. It  doth  not  forbid  the  private  meetings  of 
those  who  plainly  and  simply  make  it  their  only  end 
to  worship  the  Lord,  and  to  exhort  one  another  to 
edification." 

"  Well,  I  don't  profess  to  be  a  man  that  can  dis- 
pute ;  but,  neighbor  Bunyan,  I  would  have  you 
submit  yourself.  You  may  exhort  your  neighbor 
in  private  discourse,  so  be  you  do  not  call  together  an 
assembly  of  people.  It  is  your  private  meetings  that 
the  law  is  against." 

"  Sir,  if  I  may  do  good  to  one  by  my  discourse, 
why  not  to  two  ?  And  if  to  two,  why  not  to  four  ? 
And  if  to  four,  why  not  to  eight  ?  And  so  on." 

"  But  you  may  only  do  harm,  by  seducing  people : 
you  are,  therefore,  denied  your  meeting  so  many 
together,  lest  you  should  do  harm." 

"  And  yet  you  say  the  law  tolerates  me  to  dis- 
course with  my  neighbor !  Surely  there  is  no  law 
tolerates  me  to  seduce  any  one  :  therefore,  if  I  may 
by  the  law  discourse  with  one,  surely  it  is  to  do  him 
good  ;  and  if  I,  by  discoursing,  may  do  good  to  one, 
surely  by  the  same  law  I  may  do  good  to  many." 

"  The  law  doth  expressly  forbid  your  private  meet- 
ings, therefore  they  are  not  to  be  tolerated." 

u  But  when  I  see  that  the  Lord,  through  grace, 
hath  in  some  measure  blessed  my  labor,  I  dare  not 
but  exercise  for  the  good  of  the  people  that  gift  which 
God  hath  given  me." 

8* 


90  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

"  What  if  you  should  forbear  a  while,  and  sit  still 
till  you  see  further  how  things  will  go  ?" 

"  Sir,  Wickliffe  saith  that  he  which  leaveth  off 
preaching  and  hearing  of  the  Word  of  God  for  fear 
of  excommunication  of  men,  he  is  already  excom- 
municated of  God,  and  shall  in  the  last  day  be 
counted  a  traitor  to  Christ." 

"  Well,  neighbor  Bunyan,  but  indeed  I  would  wish 
you  seriously  to  consider  of  these  things  between  this 
and  the  quarter-sessions,  and  to  submit  yourself. 
You  may  do  much  good  if  you  continue  still  in  the 
land ;  but,  alas  !  what  benefit  will  it  be  to  your 
friends,  or  what  good  can  you  do  to  them,  if  you 
should  be  sent  away  beyond  the  seas  into  Spain,  01 
Constantinople,  or  some  other  remote  part  of  the 
world  ?  Pray,  be  ruled." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  interposes  the  jailor,  "  I  hope  he 
will  be  ruled." 

"I  shall  desire,"  says  Bunyan,  "in  all  godliness 
and  honesty,  to  behave  myself  in  the  nation  whilst  I 
am  in  it.  And,  if  I  must  be  so  dealt  withal  as  you 
say,  I  hope  God  will  help  me  to  bear  what  they  shall 
lay  upon  me." 

The  visitor  seems  awe-stricken,  and  he  rises  to 
leave,  Bunyan  thanking  him  for  his  "  civil  and  meek 
discoursing"  with  him.  The  felon  is  left  alone  ;  and, 
as  the  door  closes,  he  lifts  this  aspiration — "  Oh  ! 
that  we  might  meet  in  heaven  !" 


CHAPTEE   XIV. 


44  8<»<5k  a  good  wife  of  thy  God ;  for  she  is  the  best  gift  of  His  provi- 
dence. 

They  that  love  early  become  like-minded : 
They  grow  up  leaning  on  each  other,  as  the  olive  and  the  vine.1' 


Coronation-festival — Amnesty — "Suing  out  a  pardon" — Christiana — 
The  cell— The  Swan-chamber— Sir  Matthew  Hale— The  petitioner— 
"Clapped  him  up" — "It  is  recorded" — "Four  small  children" — "A 
tinker" — "  God  hath  owned  him" — The  tears — Roman  Catacombs — 
Prison  joys — Dark  clouds  and  bright. 

IT  is  the  Coronation-festival  of  the  Second  Charles. 
The  nation's  heart  is  stunned  ;  the  fevered  era  of  the 
Commonwealth  has  given  place  to  a  collapse;  and 
the  rollicking  Court,  mad  with  joy,  has  few  thoughts 
for  the  good  confessors  whom  it  has  consigned  to 
the  dungeons. 

But  coronations  must  have  amnesties  ;  and  there- 
fore the  semblance  of  a  pardon  is  vouchsafed.  Bun- 
yan  and  his  fellows  are  allowed  a  year  for  "  suing" 
the  royal  clemency ;  so  that  for  twelve  months  the 
sentence  of  "  banishment  or  of  hanging"  is  held  in 
suspense. 

In  his  homely  rhymes,  Bunyan  describes  Chris- 
tiana and  her  boys  thus  : 

"Tell  them  that  they  have  left  their  house  and  home ; 
Are  turned  pilgrims — seek  a  world  to  come ; 


92  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

That  they  have  met  with  hardships  in  the  way, 
That  they  do  meet  with  troubles  night  and  day; 
And  how  they  still 
Refuse  this  world,  to  do  their  Father's  will" 

The  words  touch  the  tenderest  chord  in  the  holy 
seer's  heart.  For,  let  us  enter  the  cell  again,  and 
who  is  this  at  his  side  one  morning,  bending  so  in- 
tently over  a  paper  which  Bunyan  is  writing  on  the 
little  deal  table  ? 

It  is  the  Midsummer  assizes ;  and  his  devoted  wife, 
just  returned  from  a  fruitless  journey  on  foot  to  Lon- 
don, is  concerting  the  plea  with  which  she  shall  ap- 
pear before  the  judges,  and  is  committing  it  with  him 
to  the  Lord. 

The  judges  have  arrived,  and  are  seated  one  after- 
noon in  the  "  Swan  Chamber,"  with  "  many  justices 
and  gentry."  Beneath  the  ermine  of  one  of  them 
there  beats  a  heart  not  unresponsive  to  the  sighs  of 
God's  saints.  Early  arrested  in  a  career  of  sin,  Sir 
Matthew  Hale  has  been  drawn  to  Christ's  feet,  and 
knows  no  higher  joy  than  to  wash  them  with  his 
tears.  "  With  abashed  face  and  a  trembling  heart," 
the  noble  woman  "  ventures  into  their  presence,"  to 
"  try  what  she  can  do  with  them  for  her  husband's 
liberty  before  they  go  forth  of  the  town." 

"  My  lord,"  she  says,  addressing  Hale,  whose  mild 
and  gentle  mien  seems  to  intimate  that  he  is  not  an 
enemy,  "  I  make  bold  to  come  to  your  lordship,  to 
know  what  may  be  done  with  my  husband." 

"  I  would  do,"  replies  the  judge,  "  both  you  and 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  93 

him  the  best  good  I  can :  but  they  have  taken  that 
for  a  conviction  which  thy  husband  spoke  at  the  ses- 
sions ;  and,  unless  there  be  something  done  to  undo 
that,  I  fear  I  can  do  thee  no  good." 

"  My  lord,  he  is  kept  unlawfully  in  prison ;  they 
clapped  him  up  before  there  was  any  proclamation 
against  the  meetings  ;  the  indictment  also  is  false  : 
besides,  they  never  asked  him  whether  he  was  guilty 
or  no ;  neither  did  he  confess  the  indictment." 

"  My  lord,"  interposes  one  of  the  justices,  "  he  was 
lawfully  convicted." 

"Nay,"  says  the  bold  woman;  "for,  when  they 
said  to  him,  Do  you  confess  the  indictment  ?  he  said 
only  this,  that  he  had  been  at  several  meetings  where 
they  had  preaching  the  Word  and  prayer,  and  that 
they  had  God's  presence  among  them." 

"  What !"  exclaims  the  other  judge,  very  angrily, 
as  if  his  conscience  was  not  at  ease,  "  you  think  we 
can  do  what  we  list !  Your  husband  is  a  breaker  of 
the  peace,  and  is  convicted  by  the  law." 

"  Bring  me  the  statute-book,"  whispers  Hale,  aside, 
to  one  of  the  officers. 

"  My  lord,"  shouts  another  of  the  justices,  as  if 
afraid  that  Hale  would  thwart  their  malice,  "  ho  was 
lawfully  convicted ;  it  is  recorded — it  is  recorded." 
"  As  if,"  adds  Bunyan,  narrating  the  scene  as  he  had 
it  from  his  wife,  "  it  must  of  necessity  be  true,  because 
it  was  recorded.  With  which  words  he  often  endea- 
vored to  stop  her  mouth,  having  no  other  argument 
to  convince  her  but — i  it  is  recorded — it  is  recorded.'  " 


94  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER  I 

"  If  it  be,"  she  replies,  «  it  is  false." 

"  Will  your  husband  leave  preaching  ?"  asks  Judge 
Twisdon.  "  If  he  will  do  so,  then  send  for  him." 

"  My  lord,  he  dares  not  leave  preaching  as  long  as 
he  can  speak." 

"  See  here,"  says  Twisdon  ;  "  what  should  we  talk 
any  more  about  such  a  fellow  ?.  Must  he  do  what  he 
lists  ?  He  is  a  breaker  of  the  peace." 

"  My  lord,  he  desires  to  live  peaceably,  and  to 
follow  his  calling,  that  his  family  may  be  maintained  : 
and,  moreover,  I  have  four  small  children  that  can- 
not help  themselves,  one  of  which  is  blind,  and  we 
have  nothing  to  live  upon  but  the  charity  of  good 
people." 

"  Alas,  poor  woman  !"  says  Hale,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
sympathy,  turning  round  to  his  brother-judge. 

"  You  make  poverty  your  cloak,"  rejoins  Twisdon  : 
"  moreover,  I  understand  he  is  maintained  better  by 
running  up  and  down  a-preaching,  than  by  following 
his  calling." 

"  What  is  his  calling  ?"  asks  Hale  again,  very 
mildly. 

"  A  tinker,  my  lord,"  shout  some  half-dozen  voices, 
eagerly  ;  u  a  tinker  !" 

"  Yes,"  she  replies ;  "  and  because  he  is  a  tinker, 
and  a  poor  man,  therefore  he  is  despised,  and  cannot 
have  justice." 

"  Since  they  have  taken,"  says  Hale,  gravely, 
but  somewhat  sadly,  "  what  thy  husband  spake  for 
a  conviction,  thou  must  either  apply  thyself  to 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  95 

the  king,  or  sue  out  his  pardon,  or  get  a  writ  of 
error." 

"  My  lord,"  exclaims  Justice  Chester,  alarmed  at 
Hale's  counsel,  "  he  will  preach,  and  do  what  he 
lists." 

"  He  preacheth  nothing  but  the  Word  of  God,"  she 


"  He  preach  the  Word  of  God !"  says  Judge  Twis- 
don,  rising  in  great  rage  as  if  he  would  have  struck 
her ;  "  he  runneth  up  and  down,  and  doeth  harm." 

u  No,  my  lord,  it  is  not  so  ;  God  hath  owned  him, 
and  done  much  good  by  him." 

"  God !     His  doctrine  is  the  doctrine  of  the  devil." 

"My  lord,  when  the  righteous  Judge  shall  appear 
it  will  be  known  that  his  doctrine  is  not  the  doctrine 
of  the  devil." 

"  Do  not  mind  her,"  says  Twisdon,  hastily,  turning 
to  Hale,  "  but  send  her  away." 

"I  am  sorry,"  rejoins  Hale,  addressing  her  very 
kindly,  "  that  I  can  do  thee  no  good :  thou  must  do 
one  of  those  three  things  aforesaid — namely,  either 
apply  thyself  to  the  king,  or  sue  out  his  pardon,  or 
get  a  writ  of  error;  but  a  writ  of  error  will  be 
cheapest.'1 

Bursting  into  tears — not  so  much  for  their  hard- 
heartedness  against  her  and  her  husband  as  for  "  the 
sad  account  which  such  poor  creatures  will  have  to 
give  "at  the  coming  of  the  Lord" — she  quits  the 
chamber  and  hastens  back  to  the  prison  to  report 
her  ill  success.  "  They  will  not  call  for  you,"  she 


96  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

says,  "  and  they  will  not  remit  the  sentence."  And, 
with  that,  they  calmly  kneel,  appealing  to  a  higher 
tribunal,  and  patiently  waiting  God's  time. 

Like  the  early  confessors  of  the  Roman  Catacombs, 
scarcely  a  word  escapes  from  Bunyan's  lips  or  pen  to 
intimate  his  prison-privations ;  only  the  bright  hope 
is  seen.  "  What  gladness"  we  have  him  writing, 
for  example,  amidst  the  gloominess  of  that  dismal 
cell— 

"What  gladness  shall  possess  our  heart, 

"When  we  shall  see  these  things  I 
What  light  and  life  in  every  part, 

Rise  like  eternal  springs  I 
0  blessed  face !  0  holy  grace ! 

When  shall  we  see  this  day  ? 
Lord,  fetch  us  to  this  goodly  place, 
We  humbly  to  thee  pray. 

Thus,  when  in  heavenly  harmony 

These  blessed  saints  appear, 
Adorned  with  grace  and  majesty, 

What  gladness  will  be  there ! 
Thus  shall  we  see,  thus  shall  we  be, 

Oh,  would  the  day  were  come  1 
Lord  Jesus,  take  us  up  to  Thee, 

To  this  desired  home." 

Before  his  imprisonment,  "  for  not  so  little  as  a 
year  together,"  he  "  could  seldom  go  to  prayer  but 
this  sentence  or  sweet  petition,  to  be  *  strengthened 
with  all  might,  according  to  his  glorious  power, 
unto  all  patience  and  long-suffering  with  joyfulness,' 
would,  as  it  were,  thrust  itself  into  his  mind,  and 


JOHN    BUN Y AN.  97 

persuade  him  that  if  ever  he  should  go  through 
long-suffering  he  must  have  patience,  especially  if  he 
would  endure  it  joyfully."  And  the  prayer  is  not 
unanswered  now.  "  When  God  makes  the  bed,"  he 
writes  one  day  from  his  cell,  with  its  straw  couch, 
"  he  must  needs  be  easy  that  is  cast  thereon ;  a 
blessed  pillow  hath  that  man  for  his  head,  though  to 
all  beholders  it  is  hard  as  a  stone."  And,  another 
day,  sending  to  his  brethren  of  the  Church  at  Bed- 
ford his  "  Grace  Abounding" — "  a  drop  of  that  honey 
which  he  has  taken  from  the  carcass  of  the  lion,"  he 
says  : — "  I  have  eaten  thereof  myself,  and  am  much 
refreshed  thereby.  The  Philistines  understand  me 
not."  And  a  while  later  : — "  Now  is  my  heart  full 
of  comfort.  I  would  not  have  been  without  this  trial 
for  much  ;  I  am  comforted  every  time  I  think  of  it, 
and  I  hope  I  shall  bless  God  for  ever  for  the  teach- 
ings I  have  had  by  it."  And,  still  later,  he  sums  up 
all  in  one  weighty  line — 

"  Dark  clouds  bring  water,  when  the  bright  bring  none." 
9 


CHAPTER   XV. 


1  A  man  hath  the  tiller  in  his  hand,  and  may  steer  against  the  cur- 
rent" 

44  The  being  that  is  master  of  himself,  bendeth  events  to  his  will." 


The  prison — "  School  of  the  cross" — What  makes  a  martyr — "  Flail  of 
tribulation"— "  Market  for  the  soul"— The  turnkey— A  visitor— The 
detective— The  Pilgrim— The  church-meeting— Call— The  "milk 
and  honey"— Compensation. 


TEN  long  years  have  now  passed  in  the  dismal 
"  den."  "  The  school  of  the  cross,"  says  he,  "  is  the 
school  of  light,  and  lets  us  see  more  of  God's  mind." 
Let  us  enter  the  cell  once  more,  and  listen  to  his 
heavenly  converse. 

"  It  is  not  every  suffering,"  he  says  to  a  visitor, 
one  day,  "  that  makes  a  man  a  martyr,  but  suffering 
for  the  Word  of  God  after  a  right  manner ;  to  wit, 
in  that  holy,  humble,  meek  manner  which  the  Word 
of  God  requireth." 

"  I  have  often  thought,"  rejoins  the  other,  "  that 
the  best  of  Christians  are  found  in  the  worst  times." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  have  thought  again,"  says  Bunyan, 
"  that  one  reason  why  we  are  not  better  is,  because 
God  purges  us  no  more.  Noah  and  Lot,  who  so 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  99 

holy  as  they  in  the  time  of  their  afflictions?  and 
yet%  who  so  idle  as  they  in  the  time  of  their  pros- 
perity ?" 

"  What  is  it,"  enquires  the  visitor,  "  which  makes 
people  so  troubled  about  their  afflictions  ?" 

"  They  are  too  much  addicted  to  the  pleasures  of 
this  life ;  and  so  they  cannot  endure  that  which 
makes  a  separation  between  them.  The  Lord  useth 
the  flail  of  tribulation  to  separate  the  chaff  from  the 
wheat." 

Another  day  we  join  him,  and  find  him  pleading 
with  a  visitor,  thus  : — "  To  be  truly  sensible  of  sin,  is, 
to  sorrow  for  displeasing  of  God — to  be  afflicted  that 
He  is  displeased  by  us,  more  than  that  He  is  dis- 
pleased with  us." 

"But  how  may  I  get  this  penitence ?  for  my  heart 
is  so  hard." 

"  The  death  of  Christ  gives  us  the  best  discovery 
of  ourselves — in  what  condition  we  were,  that  noth- 
ing could  help  us  but  that ;  and  also  the  most  clear 
discovery  of  the  dreadful  nature  of  our  sins.  For,  if 
sin  be  such  a  dreadful  thing  as  to  wring  the  heart  of 
the  Son  of  God,  how  shall  a  poor  wretched  sinner  be 
able  to  bear  it?" 

It  is  the  Lord's  day,  and  we  are  with  him  in  the 
cell  once  more.  "  Have  a  special  care,"  he  is  saying, 
with  a  smile  of  holy  joy  caught  from  the  holy  day, 
"  to  sanctify  this  blessed  festival.  Make  it  the  market 
for  thy  soul ;  let  the  whole  day  be  spent  in  prayer  or 
meditation  ;  lay  aside  the  affairs  of  the  other  parts 


100  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

of  the  week ;  let  the  sermon  thou  hast  heard  be  con 
verted  into  prayer." 

And,  not  in  individual  parleys  only,  but  in  wider 
colloquies,  he  finds,  in  these  years,  a  door  of  utter- 
ance opened.  For,  He  who  gave  Joseph  favor  in  the 
sight  of  his  Egyptian  gaoler,  has  touched  the  heart 
of  the  Bedford  turnkey,  so  that  his  prisoner  enjoys 
stolen  hours  of  fellowship  with  the  brethren  at  their 
place  of  meeting,  "  exhorting  them  to  be  steadfast  in 
their  faith  of  Jesus  Christ."  It  is  recorded  of  the 
imprisoned  confessors  of  Madeira,  that  their  keeper 
would  give  them  leave  of  absence  for  many  hours, 
on  no  other  security  than  their  parole.  The  Bedford 
prisoner  is  even  allowed  on  one  occasion  to  "  go  to  see 
the  Christians  of  London."  The  visit,  however,  is 
scarcely  over,  when  the  rumor  gets  wind  among  the 
bishops  that  the  gaoler  is  inexcusably  lax ;  and  an 
officer  is  dispatched  from  London  to  visit  the  prison. 

That  night  Bunyan  is  out  on  leave.  It  is  late ; 
for  the  hours  have  slipped  quickly  past,  as  he  enjoys 
a  stolen  hour  of  his  children's  prattle  and  of  his  wife's 
devoted  affection.  "  I  must  away,"  he  suddenly  ex- 
claims, interrupting  the  joyous  moment ;  "  I  got 
leave  to  stay  out  to-night,  but  I  think  I  had  better 
return."  Basing  that  instant,  he  hastens  back  ;  the 
gaoler  remarking,  as  he  opens  the  prison-door,  that 
rather  than  come  so  late,  he  had  better  have  waited 
till  the  morning. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapses;  and  the  iron  knocker 
rattles,  till  the  old  rickety  building  reels  again.  It 


JOHN    BUNT  AN.  101 

is  the  detective  from  London,  arrived  on  his  un- 
gracious errand. 

"  Are  all  the  prisoners  safe  ?"  he  asks,  in  a  tone  of 
authority,  as  the  gaoler  cautiously  opens  the  gate. 

"  Yes,"  replies  the  turnkey,  with  a  peculiar  em- 
phasis, like  one  who  feels  he  can  safely  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it. 

"  Is  John  Bunyan  safe  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  see  him." 

Bunyan  is  summoned,  and  is  eyed  from  head  to 
foot.  The  officer  is  crest-fallen,  and  leaves  chagrined 
and  chafed. 

"  Well,"  says  the  gaoler  to  him,  as  he  conducts 
him  back  to  the  cell,  with  a  strange  awe  upon  his 
spirit — "  you  may  go  out  again  just  when  you  think 
proper ;  for  you  know  when  to  return  better  than  I 
can  tell  you." 

And  there  he  is!  That  hardened;  and  those 
gloomy  walls ;  and  that  earthen  jug ;  and  those 
coarse  garments  ;  and  that  calm,  joyous  soul.  It  is 
here  the  "  Dreamer," 

"  "Writing  of  the  way 
And  race  of  saints, 
Falls  suddenly  into  an  allegory 
About  their  journey,  and  the  way  to  glory.**' 

And  such  an  allegory  ! 

"This  book,  it  chalketh  out  before  thine  eyes 
The  man  that  seeks  the  everlasting  prize ; 
9* 


102  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

It  shows  you  whence  he  comes,  whither  he  goes : 
What  he  leaves  undone,  and  what  he  does ; 
It  also  shows  you  how  he  runs  and  runs, 
Till  he  unto  the  gate  of  glory  comes." 

And  who  shall  tell  how  many  souls,  now  redeemed, 
owe  to  the  voice  which  issued  from  that  cell  their 
everlasting  all  ?  "  This  book,"  writes  its  author  again 
in  his  "Apology,"  as  if  possessing  a  presentiment 
of  its  mission, 

"  This  book  will  make  a  traveller  of  thee, 
If  by  its  counsel  thou  wilt  ruled  be : 
It  will  direct  thee  to  the  Holy  Land, 
If  thou  wilt  its  directions  understand ; 
Yea,  it  will  make  the  slothful  active  be, 
The  blind  also  delightful  things  to  see. 
Then  read  my  fancies  :  they  will  stick  like  burs, 
And  may  be,  to  the  helpless,  comforters." 

And  how  divinely  the  mission  has  been  fulfilled,  a 
coming  "  day"  alone  shall  reveal. 

It  is  the  eleventh  year  of  the  imprisonment ;  and 
we  meet  him  one  evening  in  the  twilight  on  the 
bridge  leading  to  the  town.  Into  the  rooms  of  a 
humble  dwelling,  situate  in  a  back  street,  are  crowded 
a  company  of  grave,  holy  men,  waiting  for  the  ex- 
pected visitor  and  for  his  heavenly  message.  Bunyan 
comes  in  ;  and  a  greeting  welcomes  him,  such  as  only 
suffering  saints  can  give.  "I  now  once  again,"  says 
he,  after  they  have  lifted  their  hearts  to  Him  who 
nears  the  sigh  of  the  prisoner,  "  that  you  may  see 
my  soul  hath  fatherly  care  and  desire  after  your 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  103 

spiritual  and  everlasting  welfare,  as  before  from  the 
top  of  Shenir  and  Hermon,  so  now  fron  the  lions' 
den,  and  from  the  mountain  of  the  leopards,*  do 
look  yet  after  you  all,  greatly  desiring  to  see  your 
safe  arrival  into  the  desired  haven."  And,  as  he 
proceeds  with  the  heavenly  unction  peculiar  to  such 
seasons,  and  feels  the  very  breath,  as  it  were,  of 
Jesus  to  be  on  their  souls,  he  bids  them  adieu,  saying 
— "I  thank  God  for  the  grace  and  mercy,  and 
knowledge  of  Christ  our  Saviour,  which  He  hath 
bestowed  upon  you,  with  abundance  of  faith  and 
love ;  for  your  hungerings  and  thirstings  after 
further  acquaintance  with  the  Father,  in  the  Son; 
for  your  tenderness  of  heart,  your  trembling  at  sin, 
your  sober  and  holy  deportment  also,  before  both 
God  and  men.  They  are  a  great  refreshment  to 
•  me,  for  i  you  are  my  glory  and  joy.' " 

The  holy  GifFord,  by  this  time,  has  been  taken  to 
his  rest;  and  the  Church  is  waiting  for  another  pas- 
tor, who  shall  teach  them  the  good  way  of  the  Lord. 
It  is  a  cold  winter  night  in  December  (1671);  and 
the  people  are  gathered,  in  the  belief  that  He  who 
"  holds  in  his  right  hand  the  seven  stars"  has  indi- 
cated the  choice  which  will  meet  His  sanction.  "  At 
a  full  assembly  of  the  Church,"  is  the  record  in  the 
minutes  still  extant,  *'  after  much  seeking  of  the  Lord 
by  prayer,  the  congregation  do  with  joint  consent 
call  forth  and  appoint  our  brother  John  Bunyan  to 
the  pastoral  office."  An  hour  elapses ;  and  the  pris- 
*  Cant.,  v.  8. 


104  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

oner  of  Jesus  Christ"  arrives,  on  another  of  his  kindly 
errands.  The  choice  is  announced  ;  and,  as  the  re- 
cord again  runs,  "  he,  accepting  thereof,  gives  himself 
up  to  serve  Christ  and  His  Church  in  this  charge, 
and  receives  from  the  elders  the  right  hand  of  fellow- 
ship, after  having  preached  fifteen  years."  Commend- 
ed to  the  Lord  and  to  the  word  of  His  grace,  the 
pastor,  as  he  rises,  says — "My  dear  children,  the 
milk  and  honey  are  beyond  this  wilderness.  God  be 
merciful  to  you,  and  grant  that  you  be  not  slothful 
to  go  in  and  possess  the  land."  He  returns  to  the 
"  den,"  but  "  with  much  content,  through  grace." 
Yes,  thou  brave  confessor,  thou  art  not  forsaken 
or  out  of  mind. 

"  Justice  hath  her  balances ; 
Another  world  can  compensate  for  all ; 
Tne  daily  martyrdom  of  patience  shall  not  be  wanting  of  * 
reward." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


"Paul's  love  of  Christ,  and  steadiness  unbribed, 
Were  copied  close  in  him,  and  well  transcribed." 

"  Speaks,  with  plainness  art  could  never  mend, 
What  simplest  minds  can  soonest  comprehend." 


Scene  in  the  Channel— The  bankrupt  merchant— The  landing— Court 
of  St.  James's— The  audience— "Six  poor  Quakers"— Owen  and  the 
tinker — The  petition — Liberation — The  "motto" — The  meeting — 
— Scene  in  London — The  appeal — Fellowship — The  Shibboleth. 

OFF  Brighton,  then  a  fishing  village,  a  boat  is  seen 
one  night,  making  for  the  coast  of  France.  On  board 
is  a  mysterious  stranger,  very  restless  and  very 
wretched,  whom  the  sailors  believe  to  be  a  bankrupt 
merchant,  in  hot  haste  to  escape  the  bailiffs.  One 
eye  has  recognized  him  ;  and  the  bankrupt  trembles 
from  head  to  foot,  until  a  side-whisper  from  the  mate 
assures  him  that  he  is  safe  in  his  hands.  After  a 
rough  passage,  they  reach  the  opposite  coast  off  Fe* 
camp :  faithful  to  his  word,  the  mate  rows  his  pas- 
senger ashore  ;  and,  in  shoal  water,  he  carries  him 
on  his  shoulders  to  the  land. 

Twenty  years  elapse,  and  the  mate  finds  himself 
at  St.  James's,  in  the  audience-chamber  of  Charles  II. 
He  has  just  returned  from  the  West  Indies,  after  a 


106  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

long  absence;  and,  hearing  that  multitudes  of  his 
brethren  of  the  "  Society  of  Friends"  are  in  prison 
for  conscience'  sake  he  has  agreed  to  intercede  for 
them  with  the  king,  whom  he  has  never  seen  since 
they  parted  that  morning  on  the  shore. 

"  Ah  !"  exclaims  his  majesty,  instantly  recognizing 
his  deliverer,  "  why  have  not  you  come  to  claim  your 
reward  ?" 

"  I  have  been  rewarded  enough,  Sire,  with  the  sat- 
isfaction of  having  saved  life." 

"  Is  there  any  favor  I  can  grant  you  ?" 

"  Sire,  I  ask  nothing  for  myself,  but  for  my  poor 
friends,  that  you  should  set  them  at  liberty,  as  I  did 
your  majesty !" 

"  I  will  release  any  six  you  name." 

"  What !"  says  the  sailor,  bluntly,  "  six  poor  Quak- 
ers for  a  king's  ransom  !" 

"  Come  back  another  day,"  says  the  king,  kindly, 
"  and  we  shall  see  what  can  be  done." 

The  liberations  begin ;  and  another  voice  is  lifted 
at  Court  in  behalf  of  another  prisoner. 

"  How,"  said  Charles,  a  year  or  two  after  this,  one 
day,  to  Dr.  John  Owen,  "  can  a  learned  man  like  you 
sit  down  to  hear  a  tinker  prate  ?" 

"May  it  please  your  majesty,"  answered  Owen, 
"could  I  have  the  tinker's  abilities  for  preaching, 
most  gladly  should  I  relinquish  all  my  learning." 

Whilst  the  tinker  is  yet  in  prison,  Owen  has  read 
some  of  his  wonderful  treatises,  and  has  heard  of  his 
godly  ways.  A  hint  reaches  Bedford,  that  a  new 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  107 

petition  to  the  king  may  not  now  be  fruitless.  A 
week  or  two  pass  ;  and,  sitting  in  council,  Ms  majesty 
has  before  him  a  certificate  from  the  Sheriff  in  Bed- 
fords)  (ire,  that  Bunyan's  only  crime  is  "  nonconfor- 
mity." It  is  the  day  to  issue  the  royal  deed  of  pardon, 
opening  the  prisons  to  four  hundred  and  seventy* 
one  Quakers,  and  to  about  a  score  of  Baptists  and 
Independents.  And  to  the  bede-roll  is  added  the 
name  of  John  Bunyan.  It  is  on  May  17,  1672. 

The  u  den"  is  exchanged  for  a  humble  cottage ; 
and,  to  supply  the  wants  of  his  family,  he  combines 
for  a  time  with  his  pastoral  work  the  trade  of  a 
brazier.  "  Love  not  the  world,"  is  his  remark  one 
day  to  a  friend ;  "  for  it  is  a  moth  in  a  Christian's 
life."  His  own  simple  habits  are  a  daily  commentary 
upon  that  weighty  counsel. 

The  tinker's  words  are  eagerly  sought  after  by 
hungering  and  thirsting  souls.  Whilst  his  friends 
are  erecting  a  large  place  of  worship,  the  earnest 
man  is  to  be  seen,  like  the  Master,  going  everywhere, 
from  house  to  house,  "  teaching  and  preaching." 
And,  at  its  opening,  it  is  "  so  thronged  that,  though 
it  is  very  spacious,  many  are  constrained  to  stay 
without,  every  one  striving  to  partake  of  his  instruc- 
tions." 

It  is  a  cold  winter  morning  in  London ;  and  we 
hasten  along  in  the  dim  dawn,  the  oil-lamps  still 
casting  their  feeble  glimmer  on  a  stream  of  working- 
men,  unusually  soon  astir  and  plainly  bent  on  some 
engrossing  errand.  We  fall  into  the  stream,  and  are 


108  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

carried  with  it  into  a  capacious  chapel,  which,  though 
it  is  not  yet  seven  o'clock,  is  already  filled  to  over- 
flowing, with  an  audience  rarely  seen  on  a  working- 
day  in  such  a  place.  A  few  minutes  pass ;  and  a 
broad-shouldered,  cliff-browed  countryman  is  strug- 
gling, amidst  a  buzz  of  whispers,  up  the  pulpit-stair. 
He  rises ;  and  as  he  utters,  in  his  sturdy  vernacular, 
his  burning  appeals,  it  is  "  to  astonishment,  as  if  an 
angel  or  an  apostle  had  touched  the  people's  souls 
with  a  coal  of  holy  fire  from  the  altar."* 

Another  time,  it  is  the  Sabbath  ;  and  only  a  single 
day's  notice  has  been  given  of  his  visit  to  town.  We 
repair  to  the  spot — it  is  the  "  Town's  end  Meeting- 
house," holding  between  one  and  two  thousand  per- 
sons. The  doors  are  scarcely  opened,  when  the 
anxious  multitude  pour  in,  "  half  being  fain  to  go 
back  again  for  want  of  room."  The  preacher  "  him- 
self  is  fain,  at  a  back-door,  to  be  pulled  almost  over 
people  to  get  up-stairs  to  his  pulpit."  And  oh,  how 
he  pleads  with  these  souls  !  "  I  have  been  vile  my- 
self," he  says,  "  but  have  obtained  mercy ;  and  I 
would  have  my  companions  in  sin  to  partake  of 
mercy  too.  A  great  sinner,  when  converted,  seems  a 
booty  to  Jesus  Christ.  He  gets  by  saving  such  an 
one :  why,  then,  should  both  Jesus  lose  his  glory  and 
the  sinner  lose  his  soul,  at  once,  and  that  for  want 
of  an  invitation  ?  Come,  pardon  and  a  part  in  heaven 
and  in  glory  cannot  be  hurtful  to  you  !  Manasseh 
was  a  bad  man,  and  Magdalene  was  a  bad  woman ; 
*  The  authority  is  the  Rev.  Charles  Doe,  who  was  present. 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  109 

to  say  nothing  of  the  thief  upon  the  cross  or  of  the 
murderers  of  Christ:  yet  they  obtained  mercy; 
Christ  willingly  received  them.  And  do  you  think," 
he  proceeds,  as  every  eye  is  fixed  intently  and  an 
awful  stillness  pervades  the  vast  concourse,  "  that 
those,  once  so  bad,  now  in  heaven,  repent  them 
there  because  they  left  their  sins  for  Christ  when 
they  were  in  this  world?  1  cannot  believe  but  that 
you  think  they  have  verily  got  the  best  of  it.  Why, 
sinners,  do  you  likewise  !  Christ,  at  heaven's  gate, 
says  to  you,  t  Come  hither !'  and  the  devil,  at  the 
gate  of  hell,  does  call  you  to  'come'  to  him.  Sin- 
ners !  what  say  you  ?  whither  will  you  go  ?  Do  not 
go  into  the  fire  ;  there  you  will  be  burned.  Do  not 
let  Jesus  lose  His  longing,  since  it  is  for  your  salva- 
tion; but  come  to  Him  and  live."  And,  closing 
with  another  of  his  touching  appeals,  the  tear-drop 
already  stealing  down  many  a  rough  check,  he  adds: 
— "One  word  more,  and  so  I  have  done.  Sinner, 
here  thou  dost  hear  of  love ;  prithee,  do  not  provoke 
it  by  turning  it  into  wantonness.  He  that  dies  for 
slighting  love,  sinks  deepest  into  hell,  and  will  there 
be  tormented  by  the  remembrance  of  that  evil,  more 
than  by  the  deepest  cogitation  of  all  his  sins.  Take 
heed,  therefore ;  do  not  make  love  thy  tormentor, 
sinner !  Farewell !" 

We  return  with  him  to  Bedford  ;  and  how  meekly 
and  lovingly  he  goes  in  and  out  amongst  his  simple 
flock !    "  To  seek  yourself  in  this  life,"  is  his  observa- 
tion, one  day,  "  is  to  be  lost."     Too  intensely  has  he 
10 


110  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

been  refined  in  the  Lord's  furnace,  to  be  a  self-seek- 
ing man  now. 

"  That  which  before  was  darkened  clean 
With  bushy  groves,  pricking  the  looker's  eye, 
Vanishes  away  when  faith  does  change  the  scene, 

And  now  appears  a  glorious  sky." 

And  right  joyous  is  the  fellowship  of  the  saints  in 
this  tried  church.  "  Church-fellowship,  rightly  man- 
aged," says  he,  "  is  the  glory  of  all  the  world.  No 
place,  no  community,  no  fellowship  is  adorned  and 
bespangled  with  those  beauties,  as  is  a  church  rightly 
knit  together  to  their  Head,  and  lovingly  serving  one 
another."  And  such  a  fellowship  meets  us  here. 
All  who  have  "  spiritual  communion  with  Christ" 
are  welcomed  to  the  table  of  their  common  Lord, 
every  detail  being  "  left  to  private  judgment."  The 
light  is  too  heavenly,  and  the  love  too  genuine,  to 
give  place  to  any  human  shibboleth.  "  Consider,"  is 
the  affectionate  counsel  with  which  he  closes  his  last 
sermon  to  them,  "  that  the  holy  God  is  your  Father ; 
and  let  this  oblige  you  to  live  like  the  children  of 
God,  that  you  may  look  your  Father  in  the  face  an 
other  day." 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 


"  Jerusalem,  niy  happy  home  I 

Name  ever  dear  to  me  I 
When  shall  my  labors  have  an  end, 
In  joy,  and  peace,  and  thee?" 


The  midnight-lamp — Writings — The  furrow — The  great  morrow- -Tho 
"blind  one"— More  than  half  away— The  ark  of  God— Argyle— 
Eumbold— Evil  time— The  peacemaker— Illness— "  Black  river"— 
Beulah — Dying  words — Heaven — "Feels  the  bottom" — Beatifical 
vision" — How  to  pray — Ague — Longing — "Mortal  garments'" — 
"  The  city" — A  look  in  at  the  glory. 

AT  the  little  upper-window  of  that  lowly  cottage  in 
Bedford  is  to  be  seen,  of  an  evening,  a  faint  light, 
casting  athwart  the  curtain  a  dark,  deep  shadow,  as 
if  of  a  man  in  deep  thought.  It  is  Bunyan,  with 
his  Bible,  and  his  glowing  heart,  and  his  rnagic  pen, 
"  sequestering"  himself  to  his  "  beloved  work  of  set- 
ting forth  the  glories  of  Immanuel."  Night  after 
night,  his  studies  are  protracted  far  into  the  morning ; 
for  he  does  not  serve  the  Lord  with  that  which  costs 
him  nothing.  Within  the  sixteen  years  which  elapse 
betwixt  his  liberation  and  his  death,  that  midnight- 
lamp  witnesses  the  production*  of  not  fewer  than 
forty-five  separate  works.  During  the  day  his  hours 
are  occupied  with  his  beloved  flock,  and  with  his 
evangelistic  wanderings. 


112  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

His  iron  frame  is  not  what  it  has  been.  The 
twelve  years  in  the  "  den"  have  left  their  traces,  in  a 
tread  less  elastic,  and  in  a  brow  more  furrowed,  though 
not  less  serene.  And  his  abundant  labors  since  have 
not  arrested  the  course  of  the  furrow's  deepening  line. 
It  is  the  seed-corn  of  a  great  to-morrow  which  he 
handles,  and  he  may  not  trifle  with  his  errand. 

And  one  trial  visits  him,  which  goes  deeper  into 
his  soul  than  all  the  rest.  It  is  "  that  poor  blind 
one,"  smitten  by  the  icy  ringer  of  death.  It  is  said 
of  the  Swiss,  by  one  of  our  poets,  that 

"  The  loud  torrent  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more." 

To  this  afflicted  child — because  of  the  very  rugged- 
ness  of  her  lot — her  father's  heart  has  clung  with  a 
most  peculiar  love.  She  is  sick  now  ;  and  this  other 
self,  as  she  lies  there  so  faint,  seems  to  prostrate  him 
at  her  side.  Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  the 
harrowed  father  watches.  But  she  is  gone  !  And, 
oh  !  what  a  blank  !  "  In  all  these  dead,"  says  Vinet, 
"we  ourselves  die.  A  part  of  our  life,  and  of  our 
heart,  is  buried  in  each  of  these  tombs.'*  The  stroke 
Bunyan  never  recovers.  It  seems  as  if  already  he 
were  more  than  half  away. 

His  spirit,  too,  is  trembling  for  the  ark  of  God. 
The  apostate  James  has  been  imbruing  his  hands  in 
the  blood  of  God's  holiest  saints.  Argyle  has  fallen 
on  the  scaffold,  "  thanking  God  that  He  has  support- 
ed him  wonderfully."  And  Ruinbold  has  fallen  at 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  113 

his  side,  "  blessing  God's  holy  name"  that  He  has 
"  given  him  grace  to  adhere  to  His  cause  in  an  evil 
day,"  and  declaring,  that,  "  if  every  hair  of  his  head 
were  a  man,  he  would  in  that  quarrel  venture  them 
all."  "Deliverance,"  indeed,  according  to  the  almost 
prophetic  words  of  Argyle,  pronounced  in  his  closing 
hours,  "  is  to  come  in  very  suddenly ;"  but  the  cloud 
is  as  yet  dark  overhead,  unrelieved  by  any  silver 
lining. 

In  the  town  of  Reading  there  resides  a  family  bit- 
terly opposed  to  the  work  of  God.  The  eldest  son 
has  been  at  Cambridge,  and,  hearing  of  the  great 
preacher,  has  gone  one  night  to  listen.  Arrested  by 
the  Word,  he  has  returned  to  his  home  "  a  new  man." 
The  father,  greatly  offended,  has  determined  to  disin- 
herit him.  Day  by  day  the  estrangement  grows 
more  painful.  At  length  the  thought  occurs — "  Will 
not  my  spiritual  father  come  and  mediate  ?  And  his 
prayers — will  not  they  avail  ?" 

Bunyan  sets  out  for  Reading  ;  and,  having  earned 
the  blessing  of  the  peacemaker,  he  reaches  London 
on  his  way  home.  A  drenching  rain  upon  the  road 
has  brought  on  fits  of  shivering;  and  he  is  taken 
seriously  ill. 

From  the  first,  a  presentiment  seizes  him  that  he  is 
nearing  the  "  black  river."  Calling  for  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  he  addresses  to  his  dear  flock  a  few  sentences 
of  parting  tenderness.  "  Thus  have  I  written  to  you," 
says  he,  "  before  I  die,  to  provoke  you  to  faith  and 
holiness,  and  to  love  one  another  when  I  am  deceased 
10* 


114  THE  GOOD  SOLDIER: 

and  shall  be  in  Paradise,  as  through  grace  I  comfort- 
ably believe." 

Already  the  air  of  Beulah  surrounds  him  with  its 
fragrant  breezes.  "  In  heaven,"  says  he  to  one  kind 
friend  who  has  come  to  visit  him,  "we  shall  find 
blessings  in  their  purity,  without  any  ingredient  to 
embitter — with  everything  to  sweeten  it."  And  to 
another :  "  Oh !  who  is  able  to  conceive  the  inex- 
pressible, inconceivable  joys  that  are  there  ?  None 
but  they  who  have  tasted  them."  And  another  day 
thus  :  "  How  will  the  heavens  echo  for  joy  when  the 
bride,  the  Lamb's  wife  shall  come  to  dwell  with  her 
Husband  for  ever !" 

Fever  comes  on ;  and,  in  a  few  more  days,  the 
"  earthly  house,"  enfeebled  by  so  many  labors,  shall 
be  "dissolved."  But  his  earnest  spirit  "feels  the 
bottom,  and  it  is  good."  And  so,  with 

"A  heart  at  leisure  from  itself," 

he  calmly  utters,  as  from  the  river's  farther  bank,  sun- 
dry parting  counsels. 

"  If  you  would  be  better  satisfied,"  says  he,  "  what 
the  beatifical  vision  means,  my  request  is,  that  you 
would  live  holily,  and  go  and  see." 

"  Christ,"  says  he,  on  another  occasion,  "  is  the 
desire  of  all  nations,  the  joy  of  angels,  the  delight  of 
the  Father :  what  solace,  then,  must  the  soul  be  filled 
with,  that  hath  the  possession  of  Him  to  all  eter- 
nity !" 

And  again :  "  Before  you  enter  into  prayer,  ask 


JOHN    BUNYAN.  115 

thy  soul  these  questions  :  To  what  end,  O  my  soul  : 
art  thou  retired  into  this  place  ?  Art  thou  come  to 
converse  with  the  Lord  in  prayer  ?  Is  thy  business 
slight  ?  Is  it  not  concerning  the  welfare  of  thy  soul  3" 

In  these  last  hours,  this  closet-fellowship  again  and 
again  he  urges.  "  Pray  often,"  he  says,  one  morning 
with  great  earnestness  ;  "  pray  often,  for  prayer  is  a 
shield  to  the  soul,  a  sacrifice  to  God,  and  a  scourge 
for  Satan."  And  an  hour  or  two  later:  "The  spirit 
of  prayer  is  more  precious  than  thousands  of  gold 
and  silver."  And  again,  thus  :  "  In  thy  closet,  con- 
sider that  thou  art  but  dust  and  ashes,  and  He  the 
great  God,  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who 
1  clothes  Himself  with  light  as  with  a  garment ;'  that 
thou  art  a  vile  sinner,  and  He  a  holy  God  ;  that  thou 
art  but  a  crawling  worm,  and  He  the  omnipotent  Crea- 
tor." And  still  again  :  "  When  thou  prayest,  rather 
let  thy  heart  be  without  words  than  thy  words  with- 
out heart.  And,  remember,"  he  adds  emphatically, 
"  either  prayer  will  make  thee  cease  from  sin,  or  sin 
will  certainly  entice  thee  to  cease  from  prayer." 

The  ague  grows  more  alarming ;  and,  once  and 
again,  in  the  intervals  of  its  feverish  paroxysms,  his 
eye  is  lifted  upward,  and  the  whisper  is  breathed — 
"Oh!  to  depart  and  to  be  with  Christ!  far,  far 
better !"  A  few  more  hours,  and  the  longing  is 
granted ;  he  "  leaves  behind  him  in  the  river"  his 
"  mortal  garment ;"  and  from  the  humble  dwelling 
in  Snowhill  his  great  spirit  is  wafted  upwards,  to 
"  the  city  beyond  the  clouds." 


116  THE    GOOD    SOLDIER. 

It  is  on  the  last  day  of  August,  1688,  and  in  the 
sixtieth  year  of  his  age. 

Reader!  look  in  for  a  moment  after  him  into 
that  glory  whither  he  is  gone.  See  !  the  city  shines 
like  the  sun  ;  its  streets  are  paved  with  gold  ;  and  in 
them  walk  many  men  with  crowns  on  their  heads, 
palms  in  their  hands,  and  golden  harps  to  praise 
withal.  And  yonder  he  is !  the  wayworn  tinker — 
not  wayworn  now  !  The  bells  of  the  city  ring  again 
— he  is  "  with  the  Lord"  for  ever  ! 

"  Servant  of  G-od,  well  done  1 

Rest  from  thy  loved  employ  I 
The  battle  's  fought,  the  victory  won, 
Enter  thy  Master's  joy  I" 


II. 

C  If  c  Christian   ST  a  b  o  r  t  r 

GERHARD  TERSTEEGEN. 


44  Man  is  all  weakness ;  there  is  no  such  thing 

As  prince  or  king. 
His  arm  is  short ;  yet,  with  a  sling, 
He  may  do  more." 


''  Let  us  not  be  weary  in  well  doing ;  for  in  due  season  we 
shall  reap,  if  we  faint  not." — Gal.  vl  9. 


"  Flowers,  that  with  one  scarlet  gleam 
Cover  a  hundred  leagues,  and  seem 
To  set  the  hills  on  fire." 


u  WHEN  a  tired  laborer,"  says  Foster,  "  can  repose 
upon  laying  aside  his  work,  that  is  something.  But 
can  the  Christian  laborer  ?  How  would  a  soldier, 
who  had  deserted  in  battle,  look  at  his  arms  ?" 
GERHARD  TERSTEEGEN  is  reposing  now;  but  his 
battle  is  fought,  his  work  of  service  is  done. 

Reader !  here  is  a  life-study  which  we  invite  you 
to  ponder.  And  may  you  have  grace  to  go  and  do 
likewise !  Rest  comes  after  victory :  your  final  vic- 
tory is  not  yet. 

And  take  courage !  The  "  Well  done !"  will  be 
pronounced  "  in  due  season ;"  and,  when  it  comes, 
you  will  not  deem  it  late. 


CEAPTEE    I. 


w  As  in  the  tulip's  folded  root 

Are  stem,  leaf,  bud,  and  blossom  found ; 
So  youth  and  age,  hope's  flower  and  fruit — 

The  man  within  the  infant  bound — 
Throbbed  to  break  loose,  but  throbbed  in  vain, 
Till,  link  by  link,  time  loosed  the  chain." 


Birth— Early  struggles— Studies— Earnest  nature— Apprenticeship- 
Scene  in  the  forest — Awakening — The  moonlight  and  the  sunlight 

BORN  in  the  principality  of  Moers,  in  1697,  the 
youngest  of  a  family  of  two  daughters  and  six  sons, 
and  losing  his  father  while  yet  a  child,  GERHARD  was 
early  summoned  to  that  energetic  self-reliance  which 
gives  tone  and  force  to  the  will.  At  school  he  studied 
earnestly  the  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  and  Latin  tongues; 
until,  in  his  fourteenth  year,  at  the  close  of  his  course, 
he  pronounced  an  oration  in  Latin  verse  with  such 
ecldt,  that  a  magistrate  of  his  native  town  urged  his 
mother  to  allow  her  son  to  devote  himself  entirely  to 
study.  But,  destined  from  the  first  to  a  mercantile 
life,  he  was  bound,  in  his  fifteenth  year,  an  apprentice 
to  his  brother-in-law  in  Mulheim,  for  a  term  of  four 
years. 

"  That  man  is  to  be  pitied,"  said  the  Reporter  of 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  of  Paris,  at 


6  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER: 

the  recent  meeting  of  Young  Men's  Associations  in 
that  capital,  "  who  lias  never  felt  enthusiasm — who 
carries  beneath  a  youthful  breast  a  heart  prematurely 
old."  And  he  added :  "  Christianity  does  not  fear 
enthusiasm — it  purifies  and  exalts  it.  What  do  I 
say  ?  It  alone  preserves  it ;  it  alone  keeps  intact — 
sheltered  from  the  contamination  of  the  world — that 
fruitful  source  of  generous  devotion  which  has  its 
deepest  seat  in  the  human  soul."  Tersteegen's  was 
a  nature  which  could  not  waste  itself  in  mere  ennui. 
A  fire  was  there  which  must  burn.  Unsanctified,  it 
will  blaze  in  a  consuming  ambition — a  restless  world- 
liness :  touched  from  heaven,  it  will  become  the 
lambent  flame  on  the  golden  altar,  wafting  upward 
the  fragrant  incense,  a  sweet  savor  before  the  Lord. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  whilst  an  apprentice 
at  Mtilheim,  he  was  first  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  great  question  of  his  salvation.  On  his  way,  one 
day,  through  a  deep  forest  to  a  neighboring  town,  he 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  illness,  which  seemed  to 
threaten  immediate  death.  Retiring  out  of  the  road 
to  a  secluded  spot,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  beseeching 
God  to  spare  him  until  he  should  be  better  prepared 
to  enter  eteruity.  The  pain  left  him  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  come  ;  and  from  that  hour  began  his  groping 
after  the  heavenly  light. 

"  An  ungodly  man,"  we  find  him  saying,  long 
afterwards,  "  is  one  who  is  detached  from  God,  and 
cleaves  to  himself  and  the  creature  :  a  godly  man  is 
one  who  is  detached  from  himself  aud  the  creature, 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  7 

aiid  adheres  to  God  with  all  affection.".  And  he 
adds  :  "  The  sole  basis  of  this  godliness  is  an  essen- 
tial union  to  Christ  Jesus ;  and  the  godliness  itself 
is  the  new  life  which  springs  from  it,  therefore  em- 
phatically called  in  Scripture,  '  Godliness  in  Christ* 
Jesus.' "  In  search  of  that  godliness  his  earnest 
spirit  was  now  darkly  feeling  its  way. 

The  loving  Saviour  had  wounded  him.  "  My 
carnal  nature,"  he  tells  us,  "  would  gladly  have  ex- 
pelled the  thought  from  my  mind,  atfcl  would  have 
had  me  live,  the  day  through,  as  before,  free,  and 
jovial,  and  merry ;  but  there  had  fallen  upon  my 
heart  such  a  ourden  as  I  could  not  get  rid  of — I  felt 
my  sins,  my  wants,  my  danger.  It  was  the  love  of 
Christ  which  constrained  me  to  feel  thus ;  although 
my  soul  as  yet  knew  nothing  of  this  love,  but  was 
only  conscious  of  wrath  and  condemnation." 

For  many  days,  the  light  around  him  was  but  as 
the  moonlight  paleness  and  dimness.  "  God  leaves 
us,"  he  wrote  afterwards,  referring  to  that  season  of 
groping,  "to  exert  all  our  strength,  and  to  weary 
ourselves,  and  to  become  faint,  as  it  were,  by  our 
own  attempts  after  holiness  and  righteousness,  in 
order  that  we  may  come  weary  and  heavy  laden  to 
Jesus."  Tersteegen's  earnest  nature  drew  him  into 
a  rigid  self-denial ; — such  as,  coarse  apparel ;  coarser 
fare,  consisting  of  flour,  milk  and  water,  and  partaken 
of  only  once  a-day  ;  together  with  the  humblest  pos- 
sible lodging.  In  this  way  he  sought  rest ;  but,  by 
seeking  it  out  of  Christ,  he  was  "  only  adding  (he 


8  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER. 

tells  us)  day  by  day  to  his  burden."  It  was  like 
dragging  a  lifeless  corpse,  or  a  man  in  a  swoon : 
wliat  labor  is  needed  to  remove  him  only  a  few  feet 
from  the  place  where  he  fell  down  ! 
•  At  last,  in  his  twentieth  year,  the  sunlight  rose. 
The  loving  Saviour,  who  had  wounded  him,  now 
drew  near  to  heal.  "  He  took  me  by  the  hand,"  he 
says,  "  drew  me  away  from  perdition's  yawning  gulf 
— directed  my  eye  to  Himself,  and,  instead  of  the 
well-deserved  pit  of  hell,  opened  to  me  the  unfathom- 
able abyss  of  His  loving  heart." 


CHAPTER    II. 


"Love  is  a  sweet  idolatry,  enslaving  all  the  soul: 
A  mighty  spiritual  force." 


Augustine—  "  For  thyself  "  —  Dedication^Eibbon-making— "  Artless 
humility"— Daily  routine— Living  sacrifice— "  Perfectly  at  ease  in 
God"— Closet  fellowship. 

IT  was  a  favorite  saying  of  Augustine — "  Thou,  O 
Lord,  hast  created  us  for  Thyself ;  and  our  heart  is 
restless  until  it  rests  in  Thee."  With  a  character- 
istic intenseness,  Tersteegen  now  made  this  rest  his 
own.  "I  thank  God,"  we  find  him  writing,  "that 
He  has  permitted  me  to  live  so  long  as  to  enable  me 
to  become  acquainted  with  Him."  And  twenty- 
seven  years  later,  he  says,  referring  to  this  great 
crisis — "  God  graciously  called  me  out  of  the  world, 
and  granted  me  the  desire  to  belong  to  Him,  and  to 
be  willing  to  follow  Him.  I  long  for  an  eternity, 
that  I  may  suitably  glorify  Him  for  it."  And,  de- 
scribing the  same  deliverance,  he  wrote,  in  lines 
generally  ascribed  to  Wesley,  but  really  Tersteegen's, 
thus : — 

"  Thou  hidden  love  of  God,  whose  height, 
Whose  depth,  unfathomed,  no  man  knows  1 


10  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER: 

I  see  from  far  thy  beauteous  light, 

Inly  I  sigh  for  thy  repose  ; 
My  heart  is  pained,  nor  can  it  be 
At  rest,  till  it  find  rest  in  Thee. 

Thy  secret  voice  invites  me  still 

The  sweetness  of  thy  yoke  to  prove ; 
And  fain  I  would  ;  but,  though  my  will 

Seems  fixed,  yet  wide  my  passions  rove- 
Yet  hindrances  strew  all  the  way  ; 
I  aim  at  Thee,  yet  from  Thee  stray. 

'Tis  mercy  all,  that  Thou  hast  brought 
My  mind  to  seek  its  peace  hi  Thee ; 

Yet  while  I  seek  but  find  Thee  not, 
No  peace  my  wandering  soul  shall  see. 

Oh,  when  shall  all  my  wanderings  end, 

And  all  my  steps  to  Jesus  tend  ? 

My  own  endeavors  are  in  vain ; 

From  self-attempts  Love  turns  away; 
A  gaze  too  ardent  gives  her  pain* 

And  will  not  suffer  her  to  stay. 
Mine  eyes  against  each  object  close, 
And  bring  me,  Love,  to  thy  repose. 

Each  moment  draw  from  earth  away 
My  heart,  that  lowly  waits  thy  call ; 

Speak  to  my  inmost  soul,  and  say, 
'  I  am  thy  Love,  thy  God,  thy  AUT 

To  feel  thy  power,  to  hear  thy  voice, 

To  taste  thy  love,  be  all  my  choice." 

Service  now  took  another  hue.    "  Thou,  God,  seest 
me  !"  was  henceforth  his  master- thought.     And  that 
God  was  his  Father,  with  whom  he  felt  himself  at 
*  Song,  vi.  5 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  11 

home.  "  I  knew,"  he  says,  "  that  God  saw  all  that 
passed  within  me  ;  I,  therefore,  laid  open  my  inmost 
soul  to  this  Sun  of  righteousness,  to  be  enlightened, 
warmed  and  renovated  by  its  beams." 

"  Can  these  be  thy  people,"  he  exclaimed  one  day, 
"  who  serve  thee  only  occasionally  with  their  lips, 
and  thine  enemies  daily  in  their  hearts  ?"  Tersteegen 
himself,  delivered  from  the  fear  which  hath  bondage, 
was  a  follower  of  the  Lord  as  a  dear  child.  "  I  am 
the  Lord's,"  he  wrote  about  this  time  to  a  friend. 
"  Having  surrendered  myself  to  Him,  I  belong  to 
Him,  with  all  that  I  am,  and  no  longer  to  myself: 
by  this  I  must  abide,  or  else  I  must  make  as  solemn 
a  revocation  as  my  previous  surrender — from  which 
may  the  Lord  preserve  me  !  I  am  His,  I  repeat,  and 
God  regards  me  as  such."  And  he  added,  in  one  of 
his  touching  stanzas : 

"Is  there  a  thing  beneath  the  sun 

That  strives  with  Thee  my  heart  to  share  ? 
Ah  I  tear  it  thence,  and  reign  alone, 
The  Lord  of  every  motion  there." 

Fearing  the  distractions  of  a  more  engrossing  mer- 
cantile life,  he  was  led,  soon  after  the  expiry  of  his 
term  of  apprenticeship,  to  adopt  the  humble  trade 
of  a  ribbon  maker.  After  laboring  from  five  in  the 
morning  till  nine  in  the  evening,  he  would  steal  out 
quietly  to  visit  the  sick  and  the  needy  in  some  back 
alley  of  the  town,  sharing  with  them  his  scanty  earn- 
ings, and  telling  them  of  the  Friend  of  sinners. 


12  THE    CHRISTIAN   LABORER  : 

"  Bear  one  another's  burdens,"  he  used  to  say,  "  both 
of  body  and  soul,  as  if  they  were  your  own.  Be  ever 
ready  to  serve  one  another  gladly  and  in  artless  hu- 
mility, and  to  wash  one  another's  feet  (so  to  speak), 
or  in  the  meanest  and  most  laborious  offices." 

This  "artless  humility" — how  precious  a  grace! 
Tersteegen  was  daily  learning  to  be  "  clothed"  with 
it.  "  Do  not  think  so  much,"  he  said  to  a  friend  one 
day,  unfolding  the  method  of  exercising  it,  "  upon 
denying  yourselves,  upon  being  faithful,  or  upon  liv- 
ing holily  and  strictly ;  but  only  seek  to  love,  hunger 
after  love,  exercise  yourselves  in  love.  Love  is  always 
exercising  self-denial,  without  tasting  its  bitterness, 
and  almost  without  ever  thinking  of  it.  Think  only 
how  you  may  love  Christ — how  you  may  love  Him 
more  cordially  than  ever ;  and  do  every  thing  to 
gratify  and  satisfy  His  love." 

In  1725  he  associated  with  himself  in  his  trade  a 
young  man  named  Sommer,  who  was  desirous  of  ac- 
quiring the  art  of  ribbon- making.  His  season  of  sol- 
itude had  been  peculiarly  pleasant  to  him.  "  I  can- 
not express,"  he  tells  us,  "  how  happy  I  was  during 
the  time  I  lived  alone.  I  often  thought  that  no  mon- 
arch on  earth  could  live  so  contentedly  as  I  did." 
And  now  that  he  had  exchanged,  somewhat  reluct- 
antly, the  solitude  for  the  society  of  his  friend, 
nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  the  daily 
routine  beneath  that  lowly  roof.  Rising  in  the 
morning  at  five,  after  their  secret  devotions,  the 
friends  sang  together  a  hymn,  and  read  a  little  of 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  13 

the  Word.  Coffee  followed ;  then  a  brief  prayer ; 
and  both  proceeded  quietly  to  work.  At  eleven  they 
rested ;  and,  after  separating  for  an  hour  for  the  pur- 
pose of  prayer,  they  dined  together,  and  resumed 
their  labor  at  one.  At  six  in  the  evening  they  were 
at  liberty,  when  they  again  spent  an  hour  in  private 
meditation  and  prayer.  The  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing was  spent  in  labors  of  love,  either  at  the  desk  or 
in  the  dwellings  of  the  poor. 

Even  his  commonest  occupations  had  acquired  a 
new  dignity  in  his  eyes — they  were  a  part  of  his  daily 
"  living  sacrifice."  "  The  love  of  Christ,"  we  find  him 
saying  on  one  occasion,  "enters  voluntarily  into  all 
our  concerns ;  it  will,  and  must,  have  its  hand,  not 
only  in  the  greatest,  but  even  in  the  smallest  things. 
By  love  all  these  trifles  may  become  truly  great,  and 
a  means  of  serving  God.  He  that  (so  to  speak)  picks 
up  a  bit  of  straw  from  the  ground,  from  love  to 
Christ,  performs  a  great  work." 

And  by  the  same  love  his  frequent  bodily  suffer- 
ings were  transformed  into  willing  sacrifices.  One 
day,  as  he  lay  in  bed  very  ill,  and  a  friend  was  bid- 
ding him  what  both  thought  might  be  a  last  farewell, 
Tersteegen  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  I  am  per- 
fectly at  ease  in  God :  I  find  him  in  every  way  all 
sufficient:  I  can  enter  eternity  to-night  with  com- 
fort." And  another  day  he  said,  "  How  many  let 
their  courage  fail  when  they  see  that  Jesus  distri- 
butes, not  bread  and  wine  only,  but  also  crosses !" 
Tersteegeu's  whole  life  was  a  life  of  cross-bearing ; 


14  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER. 

but  he  bore  them  joyfully,  knowing  that  He  who 
distributes  crosses  now,  will,  ere  long,  distribute 
crowns. 

And  the  same  love  made  his  closet  so  pleasant. 
"  Solitude,"  he  would  say,  "  is  the  school  of  god- 
liness. You  are  called — think  what  grace  ! — to 
social  converse  with  God."  And  again,  "To  be 
emptied  of  eveiything — to  be  alone  with  God  in  the 
spiiit,  at  rest  and  in  silence,  giving  place  to  God 
and  things  divine,  from  which  alone  result  truth, 
and  strength,  and  life,  and  salvation ; — how  dear  to 
me  are  the  times  I  can  spare  for  that  purpose !" 
Reader!  is  your  closet  a  pleasant  place  to  you? 
What  you  are  upon  your  knees,  that  is  the  real  man. 


CHAPTEK    III. 


"Straightway  they  forsook  their  nets,  and  followed  HIM." 

"  Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemployed, 
And  censured  oft  as  useless." 


A.n  awakening— Indian  backwoods — Madeira — "Very  hungry" — His 
trade — The  cottage — Its  "  consecration1' — His  one  theme — "  A  naked 
infant1'— The  corrective— Where  to  get  Theology— Payson— Luther. 

IN  1727  there  was  a  great  awakening  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Miilheim.  A.  friend,  who  for  some 
time  had  noted  Tersteegen's  so  singular  progress  in 
the  divine  life,  urged  him  to  speak  to  the  awakened. 
But,  distrusting  his  own  powers,  he  hesitated  to  open 
his  lips  in  a  public  assembly.  "  I  would  rather  hide 
myself  from  all  the  world,"  he  said,  "  than  let  myself 
be  seen  or  heard."  The  Lord,  however,  was  saying 
to  him,  "  Say  not,  I  am  a  child ;  for  thou  shalt  go  to 
all  that  I  shall  send  thee;  and  whatsoever  I  com- 
mand thee  thou  shalt  speak."  At  length  Tersteegen 
yielded.  And  such  words  !  To  the  whole-hearted 
they  were  as  barbed  arrows,  and  to  the  wounded  as 
an  excellent  oil. 

Instinctively  discerning  in  him  a  heart  of  intensest 
sympathy,  the  people  resorted  to  him  from  every 
quarter,  seeking  his  counsel  and  his  consolations. 


16  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  I 

Brainerd  tells  us,  in  his  Diary,  that,  when  the  Divine 
Spirit  was  working  among  the  Indians,  he  could 
scarcely  get  an  hour's  rest — so  earnest  were  the 
people  for  the  bread  of  life.  In  Madeira,  during  the 
awakening  there,  the  Portuguese  used  to  travel  over- 
night many  miles;  and  an  expression  which  we  re- 
member Hewitson  once  told  us  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  using  when  they  came  to  him,  was,  "  We 
are  very  hungry."  So  also  was  it  with  Tersteegen 
at  Miilbeim.  "The  awakening,"  we  find  him 
writing,  u  occasions  me  many  visits.  I  am  obliged 
to  devote  myself,  almost  from  morning  till  evening, 
to  converse  with  people,  either  individually  or  col- 
lectively. I  feel  I  must  spend  and  be  spent.  It 
were  a  small  thing  to  put  health  and  even  life  itself 
into  the  scale,  in  order  to  fulfil  the  good  pleasure  of 
God." 

With  increasing  bodily  weakness,  aggravated  by 
his  nightly  studies  and  watchings,  he  soon  found 
himself  driven  to  the  alternative,  either  of  declining 
the  greater  part  of  these  visits,  or  of  giving  up  his 
employment.  Many  generous  offers  had  been  made 
to  him  by  friends  who  saw  that  the  Lord  was  calling 
him  to  this  spiritual  work.  One,  a  merchant,  had 
proffered  him  an  annuity  for  life  ;  another,  a  Dutch 
gentleman,  had  with  tears  urged  his  acceptance  of  a 
bond  for  10,000  florins;  whilst  a  third,  a  Christian 
lady  whom  he  had  never  seen,  had  in  her  will  ap- 
pointed him  her  executor  over  a  property  of  40,000 
ilorius,  on  condition  of  his  taking  whatever  he  needed. 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  17 

But  these  offers,  and  many  others  besides,  he  had 
declined.  It  was  only  when  disabled  by  weakness 
from  manual  labor,  that  he  at  length  consented  to 
accept  the  love-offerings  of  a  few  very  special  friends. 
And,  his  moderate  wants  thus  supplied,  he  gave  his 
little  surplus  to  the  poor  followers  of  Jesus. 

Tersteegen  did  not  shrink  from  labor.  "  Your  un- 
dertaking some  external  employment,"  he  once  wrote 
to  a  friend,  "  is  needful  for  you  and  well-pleasing  to 
God.  The  idea  which  some  have,  that  all  is  tempo- 
ral and  transient,  and  therefore  useless,  merely  arises 
from  the  disrelish  and  gloom  of  the  constitution. 
We  were  driven  out  of  Paradise  by  sin  ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  God's  wise  arrangement,  we  must  now  till  the 
thistly  ground  as  a  penance,  and  for  our  amendment, 
and  be  exercised  in  the  performance  of  things  so 
worthless.  It  would  be  folly  to  doubt  on  the  sub- 
ject. We  ought  not,  however,  to  burden  ourselves 
too  heavily,  but  do  all  that  we  do  to  the  Lord ;  they 
will  then,  not  only  not  be  prejudicial  to  our  spirit, 
but  advantageous  to  it:  so  that,  by  this  simple  in- 
tention of  doing  all  things,  whether  little  or  great,  to 
the  Lord  and  from  love  to  Him,  even  the  smallest 
things  become  important,  and  earth  is  turned  into 
gold."  Tersteegen  might  still  have  continued  at  his 
trade,  and  he  would  have  transformed  its  engrossing 
cares  into  a  heavenly  discipline ;  but  the  same  sin- 
gle-hearted dedication  to  God,  which  would  have 
kept  him  at  his  ribbon-making,  if  such  had  seemed 
to  be  the  divine  leaning,  now  constrained  him  to  cast 
2* 


18  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER: 

himself  into  the  new  and  less  certain  mode  of  life  to 
which  plainly  circumstances  were  calling  him. 

And  such  is  the  befitting  way  for  those  who  are 
"  not  their  own."  One  disciple  the  Lord  needs  as  a 
Christian  tradesman ;  another  as  a  Christian  mer- 
chant ;  a  third  as  an  evangelist ;  a  fourth  as  a 
prisoner  in  the  dungeon  ;  a  fifth  as  a  martyr  at  the 
stake.  Each  man,  in  deciding  his  work,  is  a  law  to 
himself,  provided  always  he  is  "  under  law  to  Christ." 
The  general  rule  is,  to  abide  in  the  calling  in  which 
His  grace  found  us.  The  exception  to  the  rule  is, 
for  Peter  to  leave  his  nets,  and  Levi  his  desk,  and 
William  Carey  his  lasts.  Tersteegen  found  himself 
in  the  latter  category ;  and  joyously  he  "  went  out, 
not  knowing  whither  he  went."  One  thing,  how- 
ever, he  did  know — the  Lord  was  on  before  him. 

A  friend  died,  and  he  rented  his  little  cottage. 
There  he  welcomed  the  many  strangers  who  resorted 
to  him  in  increasing  numbers,  from  all  quarters,  to 
hear  at  his  lips  the  Word  of  Life.  It  thus  became 
known,  and  is  known  to  this  day,  as  "  The  Pilgrims' 
Cottage." 

The  "  consecration"  of  the  cottage  (as  Tersteegen 
called  it)  was  a  touching  scene.  Hoffman,  its  former 
possessor,  had  requested  him  on  his  death-bed  to 
assemble  some  friends  a  few  days  after  his  decease, 
and  give  thanks  for  his  happy  departure.  At  two 
hours'  notice,  one  hundred  and  fifty  people  gathered ; 
and  Tersteegen  was  compelled  to  address  them.  A 
deep  emotion  pervaded  the  meeting — the  Word 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  19 

"  came  with  power."  It  was  a  true  consecration  of 
his  humble  dwelling — the  Lord  Himself  was  there. 

And  other  scenes,  not  less  affecting,  were  wit- 
nessed there  from  week  to  week.  "  There  is  still, 
God  be  thanked,"  he  writes,  some  time  afterwards, 
"  a  great  awakening  and  stir  among  the  people  here  : 
for  some  weeks  together,  from  morning  to  night, 
they  were  compelled  to  wait  one  for  another,  to  have 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  me.  Many  were 
obliged  to  return  five  or  six  times,  before  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  could  be  found  to  converse  with  me  alone  ; 
and  I  have  occasionally  had  ten,  twenty,  and  even 
thirty  anxious  souls  with  me  at  the  same  time." 

In  these  communings  his  one  theme  was  Christ. 
"  Me  thinks,"  he  once  wrote,  "  it  would  be  an  inex- 
pressible consolation  to  me,  if,  in  my  dying  hour, 
and  when  I  shall  have  to  appear  in  the  presence  of 
God,  I  could  once  more  proclaim  to  all  the  world  that 
God  alone  is  the  Fountain  of  Life ;  and  that  there 
is  no  other  way  to  find  and  enjoy  Him  than  the  life 
hid  with  Christ  in  God,  opened  out  to  us  in  the 
death  of  the  Saviour."  And  on  another  occasion  he 
wrote  : — "  The  power  and  the  riches  of  the  merits  of 
the  blood  of  Jesus  are  seldom  recognized  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  ought  to  be."  Tersteegen  so  re- 
cognized it ; — it  was  his  own  life — and  it  must  be 
the  life,  he  knew,  of  these  anxious  souls.  "  It  was 
once  whispered  in  my  heart,"  he  used  to  say, 
" 4  Come  like  a  naked  infant,  and  then  my  bosom 
shall  receive  thee.'"  And  another  favorite  expres- 


20  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER! 

sion  was,  "  I  have  obvious  motives  for  forsaking  my- 
self, and  letting  myself  drop,  that  I  may  be  found 
alone  in  Jesus."  Taught  thus  personally,  how  could 
he  but  speak  to  these  souls  the  things  which  he  had 
seen  and  heard? 

This  is  the  true  corrective  for  all  the  husks,  alike 
of  a  religionised  philosophy  and  of  a  dry  barren 
orthodoxy.  "I  everywhere  find,"  says  Tersteegen, 
"  a  hunger  among  the  people  :  the  customary  food 
no  longer  suffices  them."  Yes,  and  so  is  it  now. 
Souls  "  hungering  after  righteousness"  must  have 
Christ,  "  the  living  bread,"  or  perish.  The  stricken 
conscience  must  have  rest  in  Christ's  blood ;  the 
vacant  heart  must  have  rest  in  Christ's  person.  No 
more  can  a  hungry  stomach  be  satisfied  by  the  per- 
fumes of  a  beautiful  flower,  than  an  awakened  sinner 
can  be  satisfied  with  any  thing  short  of  Christ. 
When,  a  century  ago,  in  England,  Whitefield,  and 
Wesley,  and  Grimshaw,  and  Fletcher,  and  Harris, 
and  Romaine,  went  forth  on  their  errand  of  love  to 
sinners — they  all,  though  taught  in  different  human 
schools,  found  their  theology  to  be  practically  one. 
The  reason  was,  they  all  were  now  sitting  at  Christ's 
feet,  and  received  at  His  hand  the  living  bread  for 
those  perishing  souls.  A  poor  lifeless  orthodoxy, 
however  zealously  embraced,  finds  itself,  in  such 
scenes,  a  mere  galvanized  "body  of  death."  And 
a  brother,  who  in  colder  times  was  suspected  as 
heretical,  stands  forth,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  true 
apostle  of  Jesus.  It  is  not  disputings  we  want  in 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  21 

these  days  ;  it  is  not  angry  warrings  ;  it  is  awakened 
souls,  trembling  consciences,  "  pricked"  hearts.  We 
want  to  "  hear  the  sound  of  a  going  in  the  tops  of 
the  mulberry-trees  ;"  and  then  we  shall  go  up  and 
"  smite  the  host,"  "  for  then  shall  the  Lord  go 
out  before  us."  Payson  tells  us  that  he  got  his 
theology  "  upon  his  knees ;"  and  Luther  tells  us  he 
got  his  in  the  furnace  of  affliction.  It  is  when  alone 
with  God,  in  "  the  entering  in  of  the  cave,"  not  amid 
the  tearing  "wind,"  and  "earthquake,"  and  "fire" 
of  human  wranglings,  that  we  receive  the  teachings 
of  the  "  still  small  voice." 


CHAPTER    IV. 


"Will  not  God  impart  His  light 
To  them  that  ask  it  ?    Freely— 'tis  His  joy, 
His  glory,  His  nature  to  impart.'' 


New  fields— Barmen— People  in  tears— The  Barn— Illness— The 
Mayor — u  Iletire  into  a  hovel" — Inquirers — The  poor  widow — 
The  little  boy— The  student— Books  and  the  new  birth— The 
decision. 

NEW  fields  opened  for  his  sickle.  A  message 
came  from  some  awakened  souls  in  a  neighboring 
principality,  desiring  him  to  come  and  visit  them. 
Distrustful  as  ever  of  himself  and  of  his  own  ways, 
we  find  him  committing  himself  to  the  Lord,  thus : 
— "Jesus!  I  entrus  tmyself  nakedly,  blindly,  and  en- 
tirely unto  thee,  assenting  willingly  to  my  own  no- 
thingness, and  desiring,  in  the  ardess  carelessness  of 
faith,  to  live  and  die  with  thee,  and  in  thee."  And 
again  : — "  Rather  let  me  suffer  a  thousand  afflictions 
with  God,  than  walk  in  my  own  way,  even  were  it 
in  the  smallest  degree."  And  yet  again  : — "  I  am 
myself  a  poor,  ignorant  infant,  and  neither  know  nor 
possess  anything  except  in  the  Lord,  and  have  no 
control  over  what  belongs  to  another." 

"  To  the  upright,"  it  is  written,  "  there  ariseth 
light  in  the  darkness."  To  this  upright  soul  the 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  23 

light  soon  shone.  He  went  to  Barmen,  and  the 
Lord  went  with  him.  So  deeply  moved  were  the 
people  under  the  Word,  that  he  found  it  difficult 
(he  tells  us)  to  remain  firm  in  the  midst  of  many 
tears.  Wherever  he  went,  the  people  surrounded 
him  from  morning  till  night.  "  I  found  myself,"  he 
says,  "  once  a  few  miles  distant  from  a  certain  place ; 
but  I  was  waited  for  on  the  way,  and  conducted  into 
a  barn,  where  I  found  about  twenty  persons,  most 
of  whom  were  unknown  to  me,  and  were  desirous  of 
hearing  the  Word.  The  Lord  supports  me,  both  in 
body  and  soul,  and — to  appearance  at  least — vouch- 
safes His  blessing." 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  a  touching  incident 
occurred.  His  excessive  labors  having  brought  on  a 
severe  cold — aggravated  by  fever,  and  an  almost 
total  loss  of  voice — he  was  mounting  his  horse  one 
morhrng,  about  eight,  to  return  home,  when  he  was 
arrested  by  some  five-and-twenty  earnest  inquirers, 
some  of  whom  had  travelled  several  miles  to  see 
him.  And,  at  another  place  on  the  way,  such  was 
the  thirst  for  the  Word,  that  the  people  assembled  to 
the  number  of  three  or  four  hundred,  ''filling  the 
house  to  the  very  door,  and  placing  ladders  against 
the  windows  in  order  to  hear."  The  mayor  of  the 
little  town,  like  some  of  our  greater  authorities 
nearer  at  home,  attempted  to  arrest  the  work ;  but 
Tersteegen  stood  firm.  "  I  wrote,"  says  the  lowly 
man,  "  a  pretty  sharp  letter  to  him,  representing  to 
him  how  inconsistently  he  would  act  if  he  prohibited 


24  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  '. 

assemblies  of  this  nature,  and  at  the  same  time  per- 
mitted quack-doctors,  mountebanks,  gaming-houses, 
and  taverns,  and  asking  him  how  he  expected  to  re- 
flect upon  these  things  on  his  death-bed.  The 
mayor,"  he  adds,  uas  well  as  the  other  magistrates, 
gave  way,  and  acknowledged  that  I  was  right." 

Returning  home,  he  found  the  anxiety  as  great  as 
ever.  Himself  almost  ashamed  that  God  should  take 
into  His  hand  an  instrument  so  unworthy,  he  would 
still  have  shrunk  from  the  great  work.  "  I  have 
need,"  we  find  him  saying  to  a  friend,  who  was  com- 
mending him  for  his  untiring  zeal,  "  I  have  need  to 
retire  into  a  hovel,  to  weep  over  my  sins."  And 
again : — "  O  God,  thou  seest  that  I  know  myself  to 
be  but  a  poor,  weak,  and  helpless  infant."  But  ne- 
cessity was  laid  upon  him,  and  he  labored  on.  "  Last 
Thursday,  at  eight  o'clock,"  he  writes,  "  when  I  had 
scarcely  risen  from  my  bed,  and  that  with  difficulty, 
in  order  to  answer  a  letter  which  I  had  received  by 
express,  I  was  told  that  a  whole  troop  of  country 
people  were  entering  the  house,  anxious  to  speak 
with  me ;  and  before  half  an  hour  elapsed,  nearly 
fifty  had  assembled.  I  spoke  to  them  on  Isa.  Iv.  10  ; 
and,  whilst  speaking,  a  powerful  emotion  manifested 
itself  amongst  the  auditory,  and  afterwards  I  suffered 
some,  who  were  in  great  anxiety  about  their  souls,  to 
converse  with  me  in  private."  So  earnest  on  these 
occasions  were  his  words,  so  clear  and  so  tender  his 
exhibition  of  Christ,  and  so  endued  withal  with 
power  from  on  high,  that  the  inquirers  rarely  failed 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  25 

to  obtain  real  peace.  "  You  have  no  need,"  he  used 
to  say,  "  to  have  recourse  with  so  much  anxiety  to 
such  a  poor  creature  us  I  am  for  advice.  You  have 
the  best  guide  and  Teacher  unspeakably  near  you." 
Tersteegen,  like  the  Baptist,  was  continually  saying, 
"  HE  must  increase — I  must  decrease." 

Most  affecting  scenes  were  continually  occurring. 
There  was  present  one  day  a  poor  widow,  who  had 
lived  a  most  ungodly  life.  As  the  Word  was  spoken, 
she  was  suddenly  wounded  with  a  sense  of  sin.  At 
the  close,  she  came  to  him  in  a  state  of  dreadful  agi- 
tation, and  "began,  unsolicitedly,"  says  Tersteegen, 
"  to  confess  her  sins  to  me,  which,  I  acknowledge, 
were  very  great.  As  she  seemed  to  be  in  such  de- 
spair," he  adds,  "  I  encouraged  her  to  tell  me  all  that 
lay  upon  her  mind,  assuring  her  I  would  keep  it 
secret.  4  What !'  said  she,  '  keep  it  secret !  Tell  it 
to  the  whole  world  !  I  am  not  afraid  of  l*eing  dis- 
graced in  the  opinion  of  mankind.  I  would  gladly 
bear  the  severest  torments,  and  am  willing  to  be  con- 
sumed even  to  a  skeleton,  if  I  may  onty  find  favor  in 
the  sight  of  God.'  " 

Another  day,  a  little  boy  about  eleven  years  of 
age.  was  brought  by  his  mother,  who  had  herself  re- 
cently found  Christ,  to  hear  the  story  of  the  Cross. 
With  great  kindliness  he  spoke  to  him  of  sin,  and  of 
wrath,  and  of  the  atoning  Saviour ;  and,  taking  him 
by  the  hand  at  parting,  he  asked  him  if  he  would 
not  that  day  cast  in  his  lot  with  Jesus.  "  He  see.med 
to  wish,"  wrote  Tersteegen  afterwards,  "  not  to  hear 


26  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER'. 

me.  However,  on  reaching  home,  he  said  to  his 
mother, '  The  devil  wanted  to  hinder  me  from  attend- 
ing to  what  Tersteegen  said  ;  but  yet  I  have  heard 
every  word  very  well,  and  resisted  the  devil.'  And, 
since  that  time,  the  boy  is  become  very  silent,  and 
goes  often  alone  into  the  fields,  or  elsewhere,  where 
he  can  conceal  himself,  to  pray,  and  weeps  in  secret 
over  his  sins  in  such  a  manner  that  even  his  father, 
who  was  before  opposed  to  the  truth,  appears  to  bo 
much  affected  and  struck  by  it."  Among  the  Indi.-ms, 
Brainerd  tells  us  that  little  children  were  frequently 
thus  arrested.  On  one  ocaasion,  he  says,  several, 
"  not  more  than  six  or  seven  ye.'irs  old,"  were  "  brought 
into  deep  distress."  And  "  it  was  apparent,"  he  adds, 
"  that  they  were  not  merely  frighted  with  seeing  the 
general  concern,  but  were  made  sensible  of  their  dan- 
ger, of  the  badness  of  their  hearts,  and  (as  some  of 
them  expressed  it)  of  their  i  misery  without  Christ.'  " 
So  was  it  under  the  word?  of  Tersteegen.  "  Children 
of  twelve,  or  fourteen  y<ars  old,"  he  writes,  "are 
awakened."  Fathers !  mothers  !  what  are  you  doing 
for  your  children's  souls  !  Children !  what  are  you 
doing  for  your  own  ? 

A  student  was  awakened  one  day  as  he  was  speak- 
ing to  a  little  company  at  Duisburg.  The  young 
man,  engrossed  with  his  books  and  his  studies,  had, 
with  a  name  to  live,  been  living  without  God  and 
without  Christ.  "  A  man,"  said  Tersteegen  that 
evening,  "  who  retains  his  previous  habits  and  infirmi- 
ties from  one  year  to  another,  has  great  cause  to  con- 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  27 

sider  whether  he  be  not  a  tree  without  life — a  branch 
which  is  not  in  the  vine.  What  are  all  our  virtues, 
and  all  our  piety,  unless  fellowship  with  Jesus  lie  at 
the  bottom  of  it  ?"  The  words  went  to  the  student's 
conscience — he  was  stung  ivith  intense  alarm.  An- 
other evening,  he  hung  on  the  preacher's  lips  as  he 
was  setting  forth  the  marvels  of  God's  grace.  "  Be- 
hold," said  he — "  and  oh  !  that  every  eye  was  really 
opened  to  see  it !  behold  how  God  loves  us  in  Christ, 
and  how  tenderly  He  loves  us !  How  ought  all 
those  to  be  ashamed,  who  represent  God  as  a  tyrant 
and  a  misanthrope  !  There  is  no  wrath  in  God,  ex- 
cept against  sin."  The  young  man  decided  to  come 
that  night  with  his  sin  to  Jesus,  and  to  lay  it  on  Him, 
and  to  leave  it  on  Him.  And,  finding  peace  at  His 
feet,  he  went  about  everywhere,  "  calling  the  people 
to  repentance."  Young  man  !  have  you  found  peace  ? 
Then,  what  are  you  doing  to  publish  abroad  among 
perishing  men  the  glad  tidings  of  great  joy  ? 


CHAPTER    V. 


**  Zealously  go  forward  with  integrity,  and  God  will  bless  thy 
faith  ; 

For  that,  feeble  as  thou  art,  there  is  with  thee  a  mighty  Con- 
queror, £ 

Thy  friend,  the  same  for  ever,  yesterday,  to-day,  and  to-morrow. 

That  friend,  changeless  as  eternity,  Himself  shall  make  thee 
friends 

Of  those  thy  foes  transformed,  yesterday,  to-day,  and  to-morrow." 


•*  Speak  with  thy  God" — Prayer  and  the  tempter — A  little  heaven — 
Sect  and  party — Genial  sympathies — "Thy  neighbor" — Maxims  on 
self-denial — Where  we  live,  and  how  we  live — Fellowships — "  Eter- 
nal love" — Labors. 


AMIDST  all  these  labors,  Tersteegen  took  heed  most 
scrupulously  to  his  own  soul.  "  Speak  with  none  so 
gladly,"  he  used  to  say,  "  as  with  thy  God."  And 
any  engagement,  even  in  itself  holy,  which  gave  his 
soul  a  disrelish  for  HIM,  he  felt  to  be  a  snare.  "  Let 
us  accustom  ourselves,"  he  wrote  on  one  occasion  to 
a  friend,  who  had  sought  his  counsel  on  this  matter, 
"  the  whole  day  long,  and  even  whilst  in  business,  to 
the  Lord's  presence,  and  seek,  in  simple  faith,  to  make 
ourselves  known  to  Him,  and  to  become  intimate 
with  Him  in  our  hearts :  but,"  he  added,  u  we  must 
have  a  frequent  seclusion  in  order  to  this  sweet  and 
prayerful  exercise  of  recollection  and  retiring  to  God 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  29 

in  our  hearts."  Yes,  young  man  !  if,  with  Nehemiah 
before  the  king,  you  are  to  lift  up  your  heart  to  God  in 
the  crisis  of  each  day's  emergencies,  you  must  retire 
with  Nehemiah  into  your  closet  each  day,  and  there 
live  for  some  time  alone  with  Him.  "  A  soul  without 
prayer,"  wrote  Tersteegen  on  another  occasion,  "  is 
like  a  solitary  sheep  without  a  shepherd.  The  tempt- 
er sees  it,  and  lures  it  away  into  his  snare." 

Next  to  his  God,  there  were  none  whose  society 
Tersteegen  loved  so  well  as  the  saints.  "  He  is  lovely 
in  Himself,"  he  would  say,  "  an^l  lovely  in  His  chil- 
dren." And  the  more  he  saw  of  Christ  in  any  saint, 
the  more  his  heart  was  drawn  to  him. 

u  How  few  there  are,"  he  remarked  one  day, 
"  whose  fellowship  is  really  a  spiritual  advantage  to 
us !  I  can  often  grieve  like  a  child  to  see  some,  even 
pious  people,  trifle  so  much,  and  not  employ  their 
time  better."  With  such  he  felt  little  in  common. 
But  place  him  amongst  a  few  brethren  who  were 
really  devoted  to  God,  and  it  seemed  to  him  like  a 
little  foretaste  of  heaven.  His  eye  glistened,  and  his 
words  dropped  fatness. 

Tersteegen  lived  too  near  the  Lord  to  set  much 
store  by  sect  or  by  party.  "  I  ask  not  whence  they 
come,"  he  would  say,  u  but  whither  they  are  going." 
He  loved  the  saints  in  spite  of  their  defects ;  and,  if 
a  defect  or  an  error  in  a  brother  was  to  be  corrected, 
he  handled  it  so  lovingly  that,  whether  surrendered 
or  no,  the  sin  was  felt  to  be  there.  "  Let  us  extin- 
guish the  fire,"  he  would  say,  "  but  with  water" 
3* 


30  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  : 

Tersteegen  was  singularly  human — of  warm  affec- 
tions and  of  a  genial  heart.  "  I  do  not  like,"  he 
would  say,  "  the  indifference  of  a  Stoic,  but  would 
willingly  participate  in  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of 
/ny  brethren."  One  day,  in  a  family  which  he  often 
visited,  he  was  speaking  a  few  words  of  consolation 
on  the  removal  of  one  of  its  members,  who  had  been 
very  dear  to  him.  As  he  spoke,  he  broke  off  ab- 
ruptly— tears  hindering  further  utterance.  "  How 
could  you  be  so  childish  as  to  weep  ?"  said  some  one 
to  him  afterwards.  •"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  perhaps 
it  was  childish ;  but  believe  me,  I  feel  more  and 
more  depressed  in  the  world,  when  those  who  are 
so  wholly  devoted  to  God  take  their  departure  from  it." 

"Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  is  the  Lord's 
command.  Notwithstanding  our  constant  faults  and 
shortcomings,  we  still  care  for  ourselves.  Do  we  still 
care  for  our  neighbor,  and  love  him,  notwithstanding 
his  errors  and  deficiencies  ?  Few  men  ever  loved 
their  neighbors  as  themselves  with  a  steadfastness  and 
a  patience  like  Tersteegen's.  "  Thiuk  no  ill  of  thy 
brother,"  he  would  say;  "judge  not;  be  not  hasty; 
put  the  best  construction  upon  everything."  And 
again :  "  Love  those  who  do  not  walk  in  all  things 
as  thou  dost ;  let  every  one  go  his  own  way ;  what 
is  that  to  thee?  Follow  Jesus." 

And  nothing  could  be  more  wise  and  considerate 
than  the  counsels  he  addressed  to  the  troubled  and 
the  distressed.  "We  must  not  prescribe,"  we  find 
him  saying  to  one,  u  too  many  laws  of  self-denial  for 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEJf.  3l 

peculiarities,  but  leave  grace  to  counteract  them,  had 
chiefly  insist  upon  a  complete  surrender  of  the  heart." 
And  to  another,  thus  :  "  You  must  not  be  too  scru- 
pulous in  your  devotional  exercises  :  good  children  do 
what  is  given  them  to  perform,  as  well  as  they  are 
able,  and  are  desirous  of  improving  every  day.  May 
filial  love  govern  you  in  all  things !  The  picking 
up  of  a  straw  with  an  intention  to  please  God,  is  of 
greater  value  in  His  sight,  than  the  removal  of  moun- 
tains without  such  intention." 

And,  on  another  occasion  :  "  Your  happiness  or 
unhappiness  does  not  depend  upon  the  house,  but 
upon  the  state  of  mind.  When  it  is  well  within,  all 
is  well.  Consent  sincerely  to  your  nothingness  ami 
misery,  and  submit  to  be  found  such  as  you  are  ;  the 
Lord  is  then  with  you,  and  will  break  your  fetters." 
And  again  :  "  I  repeat — it  is  not  the  houses :  inwardly 
wrong,  all  wrong ;  inwardly  well,  all  well — everything 
and  everywhere  well.  It  is  alike  to  the  Lord  where 
we  live,  but  not  how  we  live.  A  royal  palace  is  too 
narrow  for  him  who  lives  to  himself;  and  a  little  cot- 
tage is  large  and  beautiful  to  him  who  lives  to  the 
Lord." 

To  a  friend  who  was  in  danger  of  another  snare, 
he  said  one  day  :  "Avoid  all  unnecessary  intercourse 
with  those  'who  make  great  pretensions  to  reason. 
Suffer  not  yourself  to  be  detached  from  simplicity  in 
Christ,  by  any  pretence  of  superior  knowledge  and 
wisdom.  Nature  seeks  room,  and  avoids  confinement. 
The  poor  and  simple  life  of  Jesus  is  offensive  to  scorn- 


32  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  I 

ful  reason,  which  sophisticates  until  it  has  found  a 
convenient  middle  way  which  just  terminates  in  a 
point  with  the  broad  way.  With  respect  to  us,  let 
us  be  affectionate  children ;  dying,  praying,  loving 
shall  be  our  wisdom.  Let  reason  scorn  us  as  long  as 
she  pleases ;  we  shall  see  who  fares  the  most  peace- 
ably, and  to  whom  the  heavenly  Father  will  reveal 
His  mysteries." 

And  a  growing  brotherliness  drew  him  nearer  and 
nearer  to  fellow-pilgrims.  "  If  we  only  detach  our- 
selves more  from  all  secondary  things  and  notions," 
he  writes,  indirectly  indicating  his  own  way  in  this 
matter,  "  and  exercise  ourselves  in  that  which  is  alone 
needful,  seeking  how  we  may  be  truly  faithful,  in  dy- 
ing to  the  world  and  to  all  false  life,  and  in  remaining 
near  to  God  in  simplicity  of  heart — our  spirits  then 
flew  together,  as  of  themselves,  in  delightful  unanimity 
and  unity.  In  this  way  eternal  love  delights  to  dwell 
among  us,  and  to  bless  us,  as  the  dew  which  falls  on 
Hermon ;  and  we  evermore  deeply  experience  the 
unknown  blessings  which  are  to  be  enjoyed  in  the 
true  fellowship  of  the  saints.  Seeing  that  we  have 
cast  out  the  world,  and  the  world  has  cast  us  out — 
let  us  therefore  give  each  other  the  hand,  and,  as 
strangers  and  pilgrims,  brotherly  and  courageously 
go  forward,  in  one  mind  and  spirit,  to  the  happy  land 
of  inward  and  eternal  fellowship  with  God  in  Christ 
Jesus." 

The  earnest  man  continued  his  labors.  "  Since 
my  last,"  we  find  him  writing,  April  9,  1751,  u  the 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  33 

people  scarcely  ever  let  me  rest.  I  try  occasionally 
to  withdraw  myself  by  force  ;  but  it  is  of  no  avail. 
Last  Sunday,  I  had  scarcely  risen  from  my  bed,  when 
I  was  obliged  to  address  more  than  sixty  persons, 
who  had  thronged  into  the  house,  which  I  accord- 
ingly did  from  Matt.,  xxv.  5.  After  I  had  done 
speaking,  I  had  to  converse  with  various  individuals 
until  evening.  And  yesterday  morning,  after  I  had 
passed  the  whole  night  in  a  fever,  at  least  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  people  assembled  in  the  corn-loft  and 
in  the  room  adjoining,  to  whom  I  spoke,  with*  the 
Lord's  gracious  assistance,  from  Gal.,  i.  3—5.  I  have 
also  been  obliged  to  speak  this  morning,  early,  with- 
out knowing  of  it  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before.  But 
now  I  feel  myself  quite  exhausted.  I  spoke  to-day 
on  the  last  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  '  It  is  finished  !' 
and  comforted  myself  with  the  hope  that  my  toils 
and  troubles  would  also  soon  be  finished." 


CHAPTEE    VI. 


44  Affliction  then  is  ours ; 
"We  are  the  trees  whom  shaking  fastens  more, 

While  blustering  winds  destroy  the  wanton  bowers, 
And  ruffle  all  their  curious  knots  and  store." 


The  Furnace— " Self-made  heroes1'— Lessons  in  the  fire— The  "one 
thing" — Last  address — The  wood — New  sufferings — Reproaches — 
Backsliders— The  angels'  praise,  and  Job's—"  Something  noble." 

THE  Lord  was  refining  him  in  His  furnace-fire. 
"  Up  to  the  present  moment,"  he  writes,  March  20, 
1753,  "I  can  scarcely  use  my  head  or  my  eyes,  and 
my  hand  trembles  very  much ;  the  little  rest  I  have 
had,  owing  to  the  concourse  of  people,  may  have 
been  the  principal  occasion  of  it.  I  cannot  think 
what  the  people  seek  from  such  a  poor  creature.  A 
short  time  ago,  a  person  totally  unknown  to  me,  but 
a  true  Nathanael,  came  nearly  two  hundred  miles  on 
foot,  in  bad  weather,  to  visit  me ;  but  who,  on  such 
occasions,  can  withdraw  himself  entirely  ?" 

And  these  trials  and  labors  were  not  unblest  to 
him.  "  If  we  have  already  tasted  and  experienced 
much,"  he  said,  one  day,  in  the  autumn  of  1755, 
"  and  have  passed  through  many  trials,  the  result 
ought  to  be  a  lovely,  artless,  and  childlike  spirit." 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  35 

And  another  day  he  said  : — "  The  Lord  lets  us  feel 
our  weakness  in  the  season  of  trial,  in  order  that  we 
may  be  no  self-made  heroes,  but  creep  the  more  help- 
lessly into  His  strength,  and  that  He  may  be  all 
things  and  alone  in  us."  And  another  day,  a  friend 
was  remarking  how  much  trouble  God  had  in  bring- 
ing up  His  children.  "  Yes,"  said  Tersteegen,  u  and 
ii\  bringing  them  down !"  These  were  the  lessons 
which  the  mellowed  saint  was  learning  in  the  fires. 

And  another  lesson  which,  amidst  his  incessant 
labors  and  deep  trials,  he  was  learning  was,  the 
necessity  of  waiting  upon  God  and  of  checking  the 
restless  and  impatient  u  flesh."  *'  When  we  cease  to 
care  and  labor,"  he  would  say,  "then  God  begins, 
and  will  be  all  in  our  nothingness."  And  again  : — 
"  Our  Lord  Jesus  was  silent  and  kept  Himself  con- 
cealed for  thirty  years,  in  order  that,  by  His  exam- 
pie,  He  might  inspire  us  with  a  fondness  for  a  truly 
retired  life;  and  scarcely  did  He  spend  four  years 
in  a  public  manner.  It  is  a  seciot  but  common 
temptation  of  the  enemy,  and  a  subtle  device  of  the 
flesh,  by  which  the  tempter  would  allure  us  from  the 
only  thing  needful,  and  weaken  our  strength  by  the 
multiplicity  of  the  objects  in  which  we  engage." 
And,  on  another  occasion,  thus  : — "  All  you  have  to 
do,  is  to  love  Christ,  to  abide  in  Him,  and  you  shall 
bear  much  fruit.  Does  the  branch  of  the  vine  find 
it  difficult  to  bear  sweet  grapes  ?  Is  it  necessary  to 
compel  it  to  do  so,  by  commanding,  threatening,  and 
rough  usage  ?  Oh,  no  ;  the  whole  process  takes  place 


»36  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  I 

very  quietly,  easily,  and  naturally ;  the  branch  merely 
abides  in  the  vine,  and  imbibes  its*  precious  sap,  and 
then  it  flourishes  and  bears  fruit  without  any  further 
trouble.  It  is  thus  that  we  ought  also  to  act." 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1756  that,  for  the  last 
time,  he  addressed  the  assembled  people.  So  many 
had  come  together,  that  he  was  obliged  to  fill  with 
his  voice  five  or  six  rooms  of  his  house.  The  bow, 
so  long  stretched,  was  at  length  broken.  From  that 
day,  he  was  unable  to  do  more  than  take  an  occa- 
sional short  ride  into  the  country,  or  saunter  into  a 
neighboring  wood,  where,  in  company  with  a  few 
friends  who  had  come  from  a  distance  to  see  him,  he 
would  enjoy  a  simple  repast,  savored  with  the  salt 
of  his  own  meek  and  heavenly  converse. 

New  sufferings  came  on  him.  His  whole  life  had 
been  little  else  than  one  painful  illness ;  but  now  the 
furnace  was  heated  seven  times.  "  A  week  ago,"  he 
writes, "  I  was  attacked  by  catarrh  in  the  head  causing 
such  acute  pain,  night  and  day,  that  my  head  throbbed 
convulsively  every  moment."  And  again  : — "  On 
Friday  morning  before  Whitsuntide,  in  writing  an 
urgent  letter,  I  was  seized  with  a  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  In  the  evening  I  was  attacked  by 
fever,  and  by  a  pain  in  the  limbs  so  acute  that  I 
knew  not  where  to  put  myself."  And  another  time : 
— "  I  have  an  eruption  over  my  whole  body,  and  my 
back  is  so  sore  that  my  shirt  adheres  to  it."  And 
during  these  latter  years  his  stomach  was  so  weak 
that  he  had  a  repugnance  to  every  sort  of  food.  "  I 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  37 

am  always  sorry,"  he  would  say,  "  when  my  dinnei 
is  brought  up,  for  the  lightest  food  causes  me  much 
difficulty  and  pain." 

Added  to  these  trials  were  sufferings  of  another 
kind.  One  blamed  him  for  doing  too  much,  another 
for  doing  too  little  ;  a  third,  envying  him  for  his  gifts? 
spoke  evil  of  his  work.  And,  of  all  his  griefs,  none 
penetrated  his  soul  so  deeply  as  the  unholy  walk  of  a 
disciple.  "  Oh,  what  a  load  of  anxiety  and  care,"  he 
exclaimed  on  one  such  occasion,  accompanying  the 
words  with  a  mournful  sigh,  "  do  those  occasion 
me,  who,  divinely  called,  yet  walk  unfaithfully  before 
the  Lord !  It  gives  me  so  much  pain,  that  I  am 
often  obliged  to  throw  myself  on  my  face  before 
God." 

But  he  was  made  "  more  than  conqueror,  through 
Him  that  loved  him."  "Is  it  anything  wonderful," 
he  said  to  a  friend,  who  came  to  him  one  evening  in 
great  distress  of  spirit,  "  that  the  angels  praise  God  ?" 
"  No,"  replied  the  sufferer  ;  "  for  if  we  were  in  their 
place,  we  should  do  likewise."  "That  is  also  my 
opinion,"  rejoined  Tersteegen;  "but  when  Job 
praised  God  whilst  sitting  in  the  ashes,  that  was 
something  noble,  and  his  praise  pleased  Him  better 
than  that  of  angels."  Such  praise  he  himself  was 
offering  now,  in  his  own  "  great  fight  of  afflictions.' 
4 


CHAPTER    VII. 

**  Pass  along,  pilgrim  of  life,  go  to  thy  grave  unfearing." 


'Breathing  of  the  holy  soul"— Sinking  into  Christ— The  sick  child— 
"  Gladly  \\  i  uk"— "Always  poor"— Going  Homo— Death-bed— "  Thou 
all,  I  nothing" — Conclusion — "  Entirely  God's." 


A  HOLY  man  once  said,  writing  to  a  deeply  tried 
friend — "  How  blessed,  that,  when  the  soul  is  in  a 
holy  frame,  the  exertion  of  prayer  is  so  little  felt  as 
not  to  oppress  even  the  languishing  body !  The 
natural  breathing  of  the  holy  soul  is  prayer,  which 
enters  into  the  ears  of  the  Father."  And  another 
departed  saint,  at  the  time  sorely  pressed  by  weak- 
ness, said  : — "  We  can  sink  into  Christ,  though  we 
cannot  rise  to  Him."  Gerhard  was  tasting  this  joy. 
"  On  account  of  the  weakness  of  my  head,"  he  writes, 
"  I  am  often  unable  to  think  either  of  God  or  of  my 
own  soul;  but  I  know  that  'God  is' — that  He  is 
the  great,  the  good,  the  ever-blessed  God.  The  mere 
recollection  of  this  is  unspeakable  rest  to  me."  And 
again  : — "  Just  as  a  sick  child  upon  its  mother's  lap 
causes  the  pain  it  feels  to  be  understood  only  by  the 
moving  -expression  of  its  eyes — so  endure  in  the 
presence  of  God,  simply  looking  up  to  Him." 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  39 

As  he  hastened  onward,  the  simplicities  of  faith 
grew  more  and  more  precious  to  him.  "  Our  life," 
he  remarked  one  day,  "  is  an  infancy  and  commence- 
ment of  an  eternal  life."  And  it  seemed  as  if,  in  in- 
fancy of  heart,  he  was  daily  gaining  more  distinctly 
the  lineaments  of  the  "  little  child,"  who  alone  can 
enter  the  kingdom.  "  I  am  like  a  poor  man,"  he 
writes,  uwho  has  nothing  in  reserve,  and  would  be 
always  like  a  poor  child,  who  desires  neither  to  know 
nor  to  possess  anything."  And  another  day :  "  I  feel 
I  must  do  nothing,  and  desire  nothing ;  and,  letting 
God  do  what  seemeth  Him  good,  be  as  a  child,  con- 
tented." And  again  :  "  I  am  gladly  weak,  in  order 
not  to  run  without  God — that  His  glory  and  power 
may  be  perfected  in  my  nothingness."  And  once 
again  :  "  I  am  lost  in  adoration  when  I  reflect  that 
God  has  selected  such  a  way  to  eternal  glory  as  takes 
away  everything  from  the  creature,  and  gives  it  all 
to  God,  and,  consequently,  sweetly  compels  us  to 
cleave  most  closely  to  Him — to  abide  and  live  in 
Him  and  upon  Him — and  to  continue  always  poor, 
that  we  may  in  reality  possess  all  things — a  way  for 
children,  hut  only  for  naked  children — a  way  which 
the  wise  overlook."  And,  in  one  feature  of  his  trials, 
this  growing  childlikeness  solaced  his  heart  peculiar- 
ly. "  Seek  to  become,"  said  he  one  day  to  a  friend, 
desiring  to  comfort  him  with  the  abundant  consola- 
tion with  which  he  himself  had  been  comforted  of 
God,  "  seek  to  become  inwardly  a  little  innocent 
child,  that  finds  fault  with  nothing,  and  lets  all  the 


40  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER  : 

world  act  and  speak  of  it,  even  in  its  presence,  -*s 
they  please,  without  once  regarding  it,  or  letting  it- 
self be  troubled  by  it," 

"  The  end  of  all  our  lamentations  is — going  home." 
So  said  Tersteegen  one  day  in  the  spring  of  1769, 
and  that  home  he  was  now  speedily  to  enter.  To- 
wards the  end  of  March,  he  was  seized  with  an  asth- 
ma, which  obliged  him  to  sit  forty -seven  hours  to- 
gether in  his  aim-chair,  sometimes  leaning  back- 
wards for  a  few  minutes  on  the  chair,  and  then  again 
forward  on  a  cushion  upon  the  table.  Friend  after 
friend  came  in  ;  and,  whilst  they  were  overwhelmed 
at  the  sight  of  agony  so  acute,  he  spoke  to  each,  ac- 
cording to  their  peculiar  circumstances,  in  a  manner 
so  edifying  and  so  comforting  that  they  were  all 
affected  even  to  tears.  "  Oh,  sister,  the  way  is  a  good 
way,"  he  said  to  one ;  "  follow  the  Lamb  with  cheer- 
fulness whithersoever  He  leads  you."  And  to  an- 
other :  "  I  commend  you,  through  grace,  to  the  love 
of  Jesus !  Let  the  present  moment  induce  you  to  sur- 
render yourself  entirely  to  our  dearest  Saviour."  And 
to  a  third  :  u  Ask  His  grace,  like  the  woman  of  Cana : 
ask  it  without  regard  to  temporal  things,  which  are 
of  less  value  than  is  generally  supposed.  What  a 
happiness  it  is,  when  obliged  to  part  with  them,  to 
have  a  gracious  God  in  Christ !"  And  to  a  fourth 
he  whispered  :  "  Outwardly  very  weak,  but  inwardly 
overflowing  with  love !" 

On  the  morning  of  April  2,  the  pain  somewhat 
abated;  and,  during  all  that  day,  he  had  successive 


GERHARD    TERSTEEGEN.  41 

fits  of  slumber,  deepening  and  lengthening  as  night 
drew  on.  "  Yes,  Amen  !"  he  said,  as  he  awoke  out 
of  one  of  them  ;  "  Thou  all !  I  nothing  I"  And  at 
another  waking  moment,  "  O  God !  0  Jesus !  0 
sweet  Jesus !"  They  were  his  last  whispers ;  and  at 
two  in  the  morning  of  the  3rd  April,  he  passed  up- 
ward into  His  presence,  to  wait  with  Him  for  "  that 
day." 

A  life  like  this  is  its  own  interpreter.  Who  will 
arise  and  follow  Tersteegen,  as  he  followed  Christ  ? 

"  Oh,  how  seldom,"  he  once  exclaimed,  "  do  we 
meet  with  those  who  are  entirely  God's  !  Alas !  on 
every  side  we  see  scarcely  anything  but  dead  bones, 
dead  hearts,  dead  formalists,  dead  words,  dead  works, 
a  dead  walk,  dead  worship!"  Were  Tersteegen 
amongst  us,  would  he  have  any  reason  to  utter  the 
same  lamentation  ? 

Reader  !  you  yourself  best  know  whether  you  are 
now  ENTIRELY  God's.  You  that  are  hesitating  to  be 
wholly  on  the  Lord's  side  ;  ftoh,  that  we  could  per- 
suade you  how  willingly  the  Lord  would  become  to 
you  "  your  treasure,  your  portion,  your  all !"  It  is 
not  head-notions,  however  captivating,  which  will 
here  avail  you.  "  Nature  finds  it  easier,"  said  Ter- 
steegen, on  one  occasion, u  to  amuse  herself  with  ideas, 
than  to  suffer  and  to  die."  Your  religion  must  have 
power  in  it,  not  only  to  carry  you  along  the  path  of 
sunshine,  but  to  carry  you  up  to  cross-bearing,  and 
through  it.  And,  if  you  are  to  have  this  power,  you 


42  THE    CHRISTIAN    LABORER. 

must  get  it  at  the  BLOOD — you  must  be  accepted  in 
your  crucified  and  risen  Lord.  Are  you  so  accepted  ? 
Is  the  blood  on  your  conscience  ? 

And  then,  if  accepted  in  Christ,  what  are  you  do- 
ing for  Him  ?  "  Keep  this  truth,"  said  Tersteegen 
one  day  to  a  Christian  young  man,  "  firmly  and  nn- 
shakenly,  with  the  help  of  God — that  your  heart,  and 
inmost  love,  belong  wholly,  undividedly,  and  eternally, 
to  God  alone ;  and  remain  devoted  to  Him,  come 
what  may.  Regard  Him  as  I  do,  as  your  only  treas- 
ure, comfort,  support,  and  salvation ;  and  you  shall 
experience  peace  and  blessedness  wherever  and  how- 
soever you  may  be,  both  now  and  for  ever."  Yes, 
grasp  that  truth — grasp  it  firmly — and  you  are  gird- 
ed for  all  labor  and  for  all  trial. 


III. 

Ctje  Christian  Han  of  Alters 

JAMES    MONTGOMERY. 


"  The  love  of  Nature,  and  the  power 

To  read  her  glowing  page ; 
The  pleasures  of  each  passing  hour, 

In  youth,  or  riper  age  ; 
The  buoyant,  bounding  pulse  of  health ; 

The  strength  for  duty's  task ; 
Bright  thoughts,  and  garnered  mental  wealth 

More  than  thy  soul  didst  ask ; — 
These  are  the  gifts  of  God — Rejoice !  rejoice  I" 


•*  The  hope  of  better  things  to  come. 

Of  higher  joys  in  store; 
The  vision  of  a  brighter  home, 

Where  change  shall  vex  no  more ; 
All  that  the  present  brings  to  thee 

Of  blessings  in  their  bloom  ; 
All  that  the  great  Eternity 

Can  yield  beyond  the  tomb ; — 
These  are  the  gifts  of  God — Rejoice  1  rejoice  \r 


"  A  soul  redeemed  demands  a  life  of  praise ; 
Hence  the  complexion  of  his  future  days." 

IT  is  recorded  of  Count  Zinzendorf,  that  in  his 
boyhood  he  would  sometimes  write  a  little  note  to 
his  Saviour,  telling  Him  how  his  heart  felt  toward 
Himvand  would  throw  it  out  of  the  window  in  the 
hope  that  He  might  find  it.  And  in  his  manhood, 
casting  aside  the  boyish  romance  as  to  the  channel 
of  the  fellowship,  but  realizing  even  more  intensely 
the  fellowship  itself  he  would  often,  in  his  missionary 
travels,  be  found  diverging  into  some  solitary  path, 
that  he  might  converse  more  unreservedly  with 
Jesus,  speaking  to  Him  face  to  face,  as  if  He  were 
personally  at  his  side. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY  "  learned  Christ"  in  the  same 
simple,  heart-touching  school.  "  Whatever  we  did," 
he  writes,  referring  to  his  ten-years'  residence  at  the 
Moravian  Seminary  of  Fulnec,  "  was  done  for  the 
sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  whom  we  were  taught  to  re- 


46  THE    CHRISTIAN   MAN    OF   LETTERS. 

gard  in  the  amiable  and  endearing  light  of  a  Friend 
and  Brother."  The  Gospel,  as  the  glad  tidings  of 
God's  wondrous  love  to  sinners,  is  comprehended 
only  by  the  heart;  for  only  love  can  comprehend 
love.  It  is  such  a  religion  of  the  heart  which  we 
are  now  to  contemplate,  in  the  Christian  Bard  whose 
name  we  have  just  pronounced. 


CHAPTER  I. 


"  When  we  sported  in  that  merry  sunshine  of  our  life, 
Sadness  a  stranger  to  the  heart, 'and  cheerfulness  its  gay  in-habi- 
tant." 


The  Moravian  settlement— Its  Founder — "A  hardy  worker1'— The 
father — The  lad  behind  the  plough — The  birth-place — The  voyage — 
"The  faith  of  that  child1' — The  missionary — Fulnec — The  sunshine — 
"That  tincture1'— The  poetic  fire— The  "Coal  ass1'— The  hedge- 
Stolen  interviews— School-days— Wakefulness— Epic — The  prayer. 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  last  century,  in  a  rustic  spot. 
in  the  county  of  Antrim,  there  was  founded  a  Mo- 
ravian settlement  of  earnest,  praying  men — who, 
awakened  by  the  same  divine  visitation  as  had  stir- 
red the  stagnant  waters  by  the  hand  of  Wesley  and 
of  Whitefield,  used  to  traverse  all  the  surrounding 
country,  preaching  in  simple  fervor  the  message  of 
grace.  "  He  was  truly  a  great  soul,"  said  Whitefield, 
on  one  occasion,  speaking  of  John  Cennick,  the 
founder  of  the  Settlement,  and  its  presiding  spirit — 
"  one  of  those  '  weak'  things'  which  God  hath  chosen 
to  confound  the  strong.  Such  a  hardy  worker  with 
his  hands,  and  such  a  hearty  preacher  at  the  same 
time,  I  have  scarce  known.  All  call  him  a  second 
Bunyan." 


48  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  '. 

There  comes  one  day  to  a  village-preaching,  where 
this  "  second  Bunyan"  is  holding  forth  the  Word  of 
life,  a  young  man  of  the  neighborhood  who  earns  his 
daily  bread  by  hard  field  labor.  John  Montgomery  is 
observed  to  be  unusually  grave  that  evening,  as  the 
preacher  proclaims  his  simple  but  telling  message. 
Moved  into  anxiety,  and,  by  and  bye,  finding  rest  at 
the  feet  of  Jesus,  he  enters  the  ministry ;  and,  after 
divers  wanderings  in  England  and  in  Germany  under 
the  guidance  of  his  Moravian  brethren,  he  ultimately 
settles  in  the  town  of  Irvine,  a  sea-port  on  the  western 
coast  of  Scotland,  having  previously  married,  in 
1768,  an  estimable  member  of  the  little  community 
in  Antrim,  who  is  destined  to  be  the  mother  of 
JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 

Some  dozen  miles  distant,  on  a  small  farm  owned 
by  his  father,  there  might  be  seen  in  those  years, 
"  whistling  behind  the  plough,"  a  rustic  lad,  who  was 
already  beginning  to  feel  those  poetic  inspirations 
which  were  one  day  to  immortalize  "  the  land  of 
Burns."  In  the  humble  dwelling  of  the  Moravian 
pastor — still  extant  in  Irvine  as  a  weaver's  shop — is 
ushered  into  the  world,  on  November  4,  1771,  an- 
other bard,  who  is  to  sweep  his  lyre  to  a  more 
heavenly  symphony. 

Returning  a  few  years  afterwards  to  Ireland,  his 
parents  send  him  in  his  sixth  year  to  Fulnec,  near 
Leeds,  in  Yorkshire,  to  be  trained  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Brethren.  On  the  voyage  across  there  arises 
a  terrific  storm,  which  so  agitates  the  captain  that 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  49 

he  gives  up  all  for  lost.  "  I  would  give,"  says  he  to 
John  Montgomery,  after  the  crisis  has  passed,  "  a 
thousand  pounds  for  the  faith  of  that  child."  It 
is  the  youthful  poet  to  whom  he  points ;  for  the 
child  has  sat  all  through  the  tempest  calm  and 
composed,  as  if  a  more  than  mortal  faith  already 
possessed  his  heart.  "  I  was,  as  might  be  expected," 
remarked  Montgomery  long  afterwards,  alluding  to 
the  scene,  "afraid  at  first;  but  my  father  told  me 
to  trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus,  who  saved  the  apostles 
on  the  water.  I  did  so,  and  felt  composed."  In 
1783,  John  Montgomery  proceeds  as  a  Missionary 
to  the  West  Indies ;  and  his  son  is  left  at  Fulnec, 
with  a  patrimony  more  enriching  than  gold  or  than 
broad  acres — the  blessing  of  the  self-denying  disci- 
ple's God. 

On  a  pleasant  eminence,  some  six  miles  from 
Leeds — once  surrounded  by  a  desert  of  rough  moor- 
land, but  now  the  centre  of  a  tract  of  richly  cultivated 
soil — stands  a  range  of  buildings,  known  to  this  day 
as  the  hamlet  or  "  settlement"  of  Fulnec.  Though  ex- 
posed in  winter  to  a  biting  wind,  which  comes  sweep- 
ing up  the  valley  from  the  south — it  is  delightful  in 
summer,  the  sun  seeming  to  repose  on  the  side  of  the 
hill,  and  in  front  of  the  Seminary.  Those  genial 
sunbeams,  like  Bunyan's  "  sunny  side  of  the  hill" 
in  his  waking  dream  of  the  three  saints  of  Bedford, 
are  but  shadows  of  a  brighter  sunshine  within. 
James  Montgomery,  in  his  riper  years,  always 
lingered  in  fond  remembrance  over  that  scene. 
5 


50  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS! 

u  Hither,"  we  have  him  writing,  in  his  "  Departed 
Days," 

"  From  this  my  native  clime, 
The  hand  that  leads  Orion  forth, 
And  wheels  Arcturus  round  the  north, 

Brought  me  in  life's  exulting  prime. 

Blest  be  that  hand !  it  is  the  hand  of  GOD." 

What  law  and  custom  ordain  elsewhere,  is  done  here 
as  an  act  of  Christian  sacrifice.  Work,  play,  study, 
recreation,  going  out  and  coming  in,  rising  up  and 
lying  down — all  is  perfumed  with  "  that  tincture, 
'  For  thy  sake,'  "  which 

"  Makes  drudgery  divine." 

It  is  within  these  walls  that  our  poet  first  joyously 
lifts  a  prayer,  which  a  protracted  life  of  service  is 
never  to  rob  of  its  fragrance — 

"  Teach  me,  my  God  and  King, 

In  all  things  thee  to  see ; 
And,  what  I  do  in  any  thing, 
To  do  it  as  for  thee." 

The  earliest  scintillation  of  the  poetic  fire  is 
kindled  by  hearing  one  of  the  masters  one  day, 
under  a  hedge,  read  Blair's  "  Grave."  u  Driven  like 
a  coal-ass"  through  the  Latin  and  Greek  grammars, 
distinguished  for  nothing  but  indolence,  and  always 
asleep  when  he  ought  to  be  awake,  he  listens  to  the 
master's  recitation  that  day  with  an  ecstasy  which 
fires  his  whole  soul — though,  before  the  rehearsal  is 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  51 

half  over,  his  companions  are  already  all  asleep.  "  If 
ever  I  become  a  poet,"  is  his  secret  whispering  to 
himself,  "  I  will  write  something  like  this."  Like  the 
child  born  inland,'  whom  Wordsworth  describes  as 
listening  to  the  shell's  low  murmuring  sound  of  its 
native  sea,  it  seems  as  if  on  that  summer  day,  whilst 
the  future  poet  sits  beneath  the  shade  of  that  hedge, 
the  music  of  the  spheres  is  awakening  for  the  first 
time  the  kindred  harmonies  of  his  genius. 

Books  are  his  daily,  hourly  joy.  The  forbidden, 
however,  rather  than  the  sanctioned  and  authorised, 
are  chiefly  coveted.  "  All  mankind,"  we  find  him 
writing,  "  are  made  of  the  same  clay  :  my  curiosity 
is  insatiate ;  and  the  pains  which  are  taken  to  con 
ceal  certain  things  from  us,  only  makes  us  more 
anxious  to  explore  them."  The  favorites,  in  those 
stolen  interviews,  are  the  great  English  poets.  With 
these,  up  to  the  age  of  thirteen,  he  is  almost  entirely 
unacquainted — though  he  has  already  filled  a  little 
volume  with  his  own  sacred  rhymes.  A  habit  is 
contracted  in  those  school-days,  which  remains  with 
him  to  old  age.  He  will  frequently  retire  to  rest 
with  a  half-finished  poem  on  his  mind,  resolving  not 
to  close  his  eyes  till  it  is  completed.  This  wakeful- 
ness,  he  tells  us,  so  grew  upon  him,  that  for  many 
years  he  never  enjoyed  one  peaceful  night. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  conceives  the  idea  of  an 
epic  poem,  to  be  entitled  "  Alfred ;"  commencing 
with  the  Anglo-Saxon  hero  in  his  disguise  of  a 
peasant  in  the  Isle  of  Athelney,  and  proceeding  to 


52  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS. 

exhibit  a  scene  in  heaven — the  Almighty  upon  a 
throne  looking  down  in  pity  on  the  ruins  of  England, 
when  suddenly  there  appear  in  His  presence  the 
spirits  of  a  host  of  Englishmen  who  have  just  per- 
ished in  battle,  bewailing  the  condition  of  their 
country,  and  imploring  God  to  deliver  it.  The 
idea  is  truly  a  "  boyish  daring ;  but  it  is  the  daring 
of  a  boy  of  genius."  The  epic,  however,  is  not  exe- 
cuted ;  for,  whilst  his  soaring  wing  is  trimming 
itself  for  such  flights,  his  heart  will  be  arrested 
by  such  words  as  these,  in  the  Moravian  Litany — 
"  Keep  us,  our  dear  Lord  and  God,  from  untimely 
projects,  from  all  loss  of  our  glory  in  Thee,  from  un- 
happily becoming  great." 


CHAPTEE   II. 


"Away!    'Tis  time  my  journey  were  begun." 

44  Whether  is  it  better  with  the  many  to  follow  a  beaten  track, 
Or  by  eccentric  wanderings  to  cull  unheeded  sweets  ?" 


The  setting  out—"  A  business"— The  village  inn— The  visitor— Went- 
worth — The  "store" — "No  vulgar  boy" — The  missionary — Life's 
battle — London — Goldsmith — "  The  Row" — The '"  sixpenny  volume1' 
— The  presentiment. 


IT  is  the  desire  of  the  Brethren  that  young  Mont- 
gomery shall  devote  himself  to  the  ministry ;  but  a 
habit  of  abstraction,  gradually  withdrawing  him  from 
exact  studies  into  that  excursive  freedom  through 
which  minds  like  his  are  ordinarily  ushered  into 
their  future,  at  length  induces  his  teachers  to  seek 
for  him  some  other  line  of  service.  Accordingly,  it 
is  resolved  to  "  put  him  to  a  buisiness,  at  least  for  a 
time."  For  a  year  and  a  half,  he  stands  behind  the 
counter  of  a  "  Fine-Bread  Baker"  in  Mirfield,  a  village 
near  Fulnec — feeling,  like  Foster  at  the  loom,  "  a 
stranger  in  the  place,"  but  dissevered  finally  from 
that  sacred  calling  to  which  his  parents,  ten  years 
before,  had  devoted  him.  With  little  to  occupy  him, 
and  craving,  like  some  pent-up  flower,  another  ele- 
5* 


54  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

ment  of  life — he  breaks  loose  one  morning,  deter- 
mined 

"  To  view 
The  world,  which  yet  by  fame  alone  he  knew." 

With  three  shillings  and  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  and 
with  a  suit  of  old  clothes  on  his  person  (for,  though 
he  has  just  got  a  new  suit  from  his  master,  he  leaves 
them  behind,  not  thinking  his  services  have  merited 
them),  and  \vith  a  single  change  of  linen — here  he 
is,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  with  the  world  all  before 
him,  and  his  spirit  at  last  free. 

That  night  he  rests  at  Doncaster,  and  the  next  in  a 
village  near  Wentworth,  the  seat  of  Earl  Fitzwilliam. 
As  he  sits  in  the  humble  inn,  wearied  and  downcast, 
a  lad  comes  in,  and,  seeing  him  with  his  little  bun- 
dle, enters  into  friendly  converse.  "  My  father,"  says 
he,  "  keeps  an  establishment  at  a  village  not  far  off; 
and  as  he  is  wanting  an  assistant  just  now,  probably 
you  may  suit  him."  The  wanderer  is  thankful ;  and 
the  next  day  he  repairs  to  Wath,  and  engages  him- 
self to  this  new  master.  Writing  to  his  friends  at 
Fulnec,  and  also  to  his  late  employer  at  Mil-field,  he 
obtains  a  warm  recommendation  from  them,  coupled 
with  an  affectionate  entreaty  on  the  part  of  the  latter 
to  return  to  his  service.  Meanwhile  he  ventures  into 
Wentworth  Park  with  the  hope  of  meeting  its  noble 
owner,  and  of  presenting  to  him  a  copy  of  his  verses. 
Scarcely  has  he  entered  the  domain,  when  Lord  Fitz- 
william comes  up  on  horseback,  and,  affably  accept- 
ing the  proffered  gift,  and  reading  the  verses  on  the 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  55 

spot,  presents  their  author  with  a  guinea — the  first 
patronage  and  the  first  profit  which  his  poetry  lias 
yet  received.  At  a  future  day,  he  is  to  be  welcomed 
there  us  the  honored  Christian  poet. 

Behind  the  counter  in  a  "  General  Store"  in  the 
rustic  village  of  Wath,  is  to  be  seen  a  slender  youth, 
about  the  age  of  eighteen,  serving  with  a  scrupulous 
fidelity  from  morning  to  night  the  simple  villagers, 
who  find  in  that  universal  repository  the  flour,  the 
sugar,  the  tea,  the  cloth,  the  shoes,  the  hardware,  the 
all  of  their  humble  homes.  But  there  is  something 
about  the  lad  which  even  their  eye  can  detect — a 
certain  grave  though tfulness  which,  as  he  paces  the 
street  on  some  business-errand,  will  suggest  the  whis- 
per— "  Surely  he  is  no  vulgar  boy."  Of  an  evening, 
he  saunters  to  a  neighboring  village,  where  the  sta- 
tioner's shop  of  the  district  finds  in  the  youthful  poet 
a  stated  visitor.  Into  no  other  ear  can  his  longing 
spirit  pour  its  irrepressible  aspirations. 

But  though  at  Wath  he  meets  no  mental  sympa- 
thy, his  heart  is  too  full  of  the  love  of  Jesus  not  to 
spread  abroad  in  his  humble  dwelling  the  fragrance 
of  His  name.  A  prayer  remains  which  he  wrote  for 
his  master's  sick  wife,  and  which  indicates  indirectly 
and  very  affectingly  the  tone  of  his  own  inner  life. 
UO  Father  of  Eternity  !"  is  one  of  its  impressive  sen- 
tences, "  we  adore  thy  undeserved  love  in  giving  up 
thine  only  Son  out  of  thy  bosom  to  be  a  sacrifice  for 
us,  when  we  were  aliens  to  God  and  rebels  against 
our  Creator.  We  thank  thee  for  His  hard,  uncomfort- 


56  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  ! 

able  birth  in  a  stable  among  the  beasts  ;  for  His  mer- 
itorious life ;  for  His  watching  and  fasting,  His  pray- 
ing and  preaching* ;  for  His  every  action,  every  thought, 
every  word.  For  us  lie  agonized  in  the  garden  of 
Gethsemanc ;  for  us  His  blessed  head  was  crowned 
with  piercing  thorns — His  sacred  back  was  ploughed 
with  scourges ;  for  us  lie  was  spit  upon,  buffeted, 
abused,  blasphemed.  The  flaming  sword  of  Justice 
was  quenched  in  His  heart  and  blood ;  and  Mercy 
opened  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  us  His  redeem <;<!. 
May  He  see  in  us  the  travail  of  His  soul !" 

"  Nature,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  in  one  of  his  Essays, 
"  is  often  hidden,  sometimes  overcome,  but  never  ex- 
tinguished." James  Montgomery,  in  the  "Fine- 
Bread  Baker's"  at  Mil  field,  and  in  the  "  General 
Store"  at  Wath,  seems  in  as  fair  a  way  for  having  his 
poet-nature  extinguished  as  one  is  able  well  to  con- 
ceive. But  man  is  led  by  a  way  which  he  knows  not ; 
and  often  it  is  not  till  after  many  uncouth  experiments 
that  his  destiny  is  at  length  reached.  Our  poet's 
next  trial  of  life's  buffetings  is  in  London.  His  friend 
the  bookseller  of  Swinton,  having  forwarded  to  a  bib- 
liopole of  the  "  Row"  a  manuscript  volume  of  his  po- 
etry, the  youthful  author  in  a  few  clays  follows — lite- 
rally, like  the  pilgrim-father  of  Mesopotamia,  "not 
knowing  whither  he  goes." 

Washington  Irving,  describing  Goldsmith's  first 
essay  in  the  same  direction,  speaks  of  him  as  launched 
on  the  great  metropolis,  or  rather  as  drifting  about 
its  streets,  at  night,  in  the  gloomy  month  of  Feb- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  57 

ruary,  with  but  a  few  halfpence  in  his  pocket — the 
deserts  of  Arabia  not  more  dreary  and  inhospitable 
than  tho  streets  of  London  at  such  a  time,  and  to  a. 
stranger  in  such  a  plight.  The  young  Moravian  has 
a  heavenly  compass  in  his  hand,  which  poor  Oliver 
never  knew  ;  but  scarcely  less  friendless  does  he  feel 
in  that  vast  wilderness.  The  magnate  of  the  Row 
gives  him  a  humble  situation  in  his  shop — Gold- 
smith's first  refuge  was  among  "the  beggars  of  Axe 
Lane ;"  but,  like  Oliver  and  his  rejected  "  tragedy," 
Montgomery  finds  no  patron  for  his  prized  volume 
of  verse.  Recommended  to  turn  his  hand  to  prose, 
he  hies  him,  one  morning,  with  a  production  entitled 
u  Simple  Sammy,"  to  a  publisher  whose  special  voca- 
tion is  "  Books,  bound  and  gilt,  at  one  half  penny."  It 
is  his  first  prose- work,  and  is  to  be  a  sixpenny  volume ; 
but  Marshall  put  him  off,  saying  as  he  leaves — "  You 
can  write  better  than  this,  you  are  more  fit  to  write 
for  men  than  for  children."  A  few  more  essays, 
scarcely  more  successful — and  the  disappointed  youth 
is  on  his  way  back  to  Wath  again,  but  feeling  within 
him  an  inextinguishable  presentiment  that  one  day 
he  shall 

"Strike  the  lyre 
To  nobler  themes." 


CHAPTEK    III. 


'*  From  the  soul  itself  there  must  be  sent 
A  sweet  and  potent  voice,  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element." 


The  missionary's  grave — The  slave — "  Son  of  a  missionary1' — Solitary 
hours—  '*  A  clerk" — Sheffield — First  fibre — Patriotism — The  "  Iris" — 
Castle  of  York — His  "den" — The  Muses — Discipline — Pensive  lyre 
— "  A  farewell  blessing" — Sympathies — The  little  dog. 

IN  a  grove  of  tamarinds,  in  the  island  of  Barba- 
does,  a  humble  tablet  meets  you — it  is  a  missionary's 
grave ;  and,  in  a  secluded  spot  in  the  neighboring 
island  of  Tobago,  there  lie  the  remains  of  another 
good  confessor,  who,  sixteen  months  before,  had  been 
summoned  to  her  heavenly  home.  They  are  the 
earthly  resting-places  of  John  and  Mary  Montgomery, 
the  parents  of  our  youthful  wanderer. 

Arriving  in  the  West  Indies  in  1784,  they  had 
entered  buoyantly,  amidst  a  population  of  slave-own- 
ers, and  slave-drivers,  and  slaves,  upon  the  blessed 
office  of  making  known  the  glad  tidings  of  the  lib- 
erty which  maketh  free.  The  negroes  they  had 
found  so  sunk  and  degraded,  that  the  message  of  life 
was  but  coldly  welcomed.  "  O  that  I  knew  but  one 
soul  in  Tobago  truly  concerned  for  his  salvation,"  the 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  59 

missionary  had  written,  after  being  some  time  in  the 
island  u  how  should  I  rejoice  !" 

"By  Satan  more  than  man  enthralled," 

the  negro  would  not  listen. 

At  length  Mary  Montgomery  is  seized  with  fever. 
On  the  fifth  day,  the  physician  expresses  some  anx- 
iety. "  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  alone  on  this 
island  ?"  says  the  missionary.  "  Indeed  I  should 
wish  to  remain  longer  with  you,"  replies  his  dying 
wife,  "  knowing  how  much  you  want  my  assistance ; 
but  the  Lord's  will  be  done."  "  But  if  it  should 
please  Him  to  call  you  home,"  he  says  tenderly, 
u  can  you  go  with  full  confidence  into  His  presence 
as  a  ransomed  sinner?"  "0  yes,"  is  the  immediate 
rejoinder ;  "  He  indeed  knows  my  weakness  and  un- 
worthiness,  but  He  knows  also  that  my  whole  re- 
liance is  upon  His  death  and  merits,  by  which  I,  a 
poor  sinful  creature,  have  been  redeemed ;  and  I  am 
assuredly  convinced  that  I  shall  be  with  Him  alway." 
Two  days  afterwards,  she  calmly  falls  asleep  in  Jesus, 
a  minister  of  the  Church  of  England  who  is  present 
exclaiming,  "  God  is  truly  present  here !" 

"  From  lip  to  lip,  from  heart  to  heart, 
Passed  the  few  parting  words — '  We  part !' 
But  echoed  back,  though  unexpressed, 
'We  meet  again  !' — rose  in  each  breast." 

The  meeting  is  not  long  postponed.  A  year 
later,  John  Montgomery  also  is  called  away.  "  They 


60  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS! 

finished  well,"  said  the  poet  one  day,  long  afterwards, 
the  tear  of  filial  tenderness  rolling  down  his  manly 
face.  "-I  am  the  son  of  a  missionary,"  was  his  re- 
mark on  another  occasion,  as  he  appeared  on  a  mis- 
sionary platform.  And,  indicating  how  truly  he  had 
caught  that  missionary  spirit  which  elevates  a  man 
above  the  littleness  of  sects  and  of  isms  into  tho 
purer  and  loftier  region  of  God's  own  light,  he 
added: — "I  know  but  of  one  mission — the  mission 
of  the  Son  of  God — the  propagation  of  our  common 
Christianity  throughout  the  world  by  Christian  mis- 
sionaries of  every  denomination." 

The  tidings  reach  him  during  his  second  sojourn 
at  Wath ;  and  deeply  do  they  move  his  affectionate 
heart.  Again  in  the  service  of  his  old  employer, 
and  his  chief  occupation  the  delivery  of  goods  and 
the  collecting  of  accounts  in  the  surrounding  country 
— he  luxuriates  in  the  solitude  of  the  grassy  lanes, 
indulging  his  poetic  fancies,  and  enjoying  a  graver 
and  a  holier  fellowship  than  mortal  heart  can  furnish. 
But  another  field  is  now  to  open. 

In  one  of  his  rounds,  he  takes  up  for  a  moment 
a  Sheffield  newspaper,  when  his  eye  falls  on  an  ad- 
vertisement from  a  house  in  want  of  a  "  clerk."  It 
is  "  a  Printer,  Bookseller,  and  Auctioneer;"  and, 
after  sundry  preliminaries,  Montgomery  is  engaged. 
Entering  Sheffield  in  April,  1792,  and  now  in  his 
twenty-first  year,  he  finds  in  the  home  of  his  new  em- 
ployer, Mr.  Gales,  the  first  fibre  fixed  by  which  he  is 
to  be  firmly  rooted  during  his  remaining  sixty  years. 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  61 

At  this  period,  the  whole  country  is  stirred  to 
its  depths  by  the  political  agitation  originating  in 
the  French  Revolution.  A  fervid  spirit  like  Mont- 
gomery's, especially  in  such  a  scene  as  Sheffield, 
is  not  likely  to  escape  the  contagion.  At  a  vast  as- 
semblage of  several  thousand  persons,  convened  in 
February,  1794,  by  the  "Friends  of  Peace  and  of 
Reform/'  a  hymn  of  his  is  suno-  in  full  chorus, 
three  of  its  stanzas  runiiino-  thus  : — 

o 

"  0.  Thou,  whose  awful  word  can  bind 
The  roaring  waves,  the  raging  wind ; 
Mad  tyrants  tame,  break  down  the  high, 
"Whose  haughty  foreheads  beat  the  sky ; 

Make  bare  thine  arm,  great  King  of  kings ! 
That  arm  alone  salvation  brings ; 
That  wonder-working  arm  which  broke 
From  Israel's  neck  the  Egyptian  yoke. 

Burst  every  dungeon,  every  chain ; 
Givo  injured  slaves  their  right  again : 
Let  truth  prevail,  let  discord  cease  ; 
Speak — and  the  world  shall  smile  in  peace." 

Drawn  into  this  vortex  of  political  excitement,  not 
by  a  mere  unbridled  passion  for  change,  but  by  a 
generous  patriotism,  which,  like  charity,  beginning 
at  home,  goes  forth  from  that  centre  everywhere  in 
search  of  objects  whom  it  may  love  and  bless — he  is 
not  the  man  either  to  be  browbeaten  by  threats,  or 
to  be  cajoled  by  tempting  bribes.  Accordingly,  no 
sooner  has  his  employer  been  compelled  by  stress 
of  weather  to  quit  the  helm,  than  our  poet  starts  a 
6 


62  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

new  enterprise  in  the  shape  of  the  "  Sheffield  Iris" — • 
a  weekly  newspaper,  to  which  for  years  to  come  the 
energies  of  his  vigorous  mind  are  to  be  dedicated. 

Whatever  Montgomery  does,  he  does  courageously 
and  well.  In  those  days  of  political  excitement,  an 
earnest  spirit  like  the  editor  of  the  "  Iris"  is  not 
likely  to  go  unscathed.  In  1705,  he  is  sentenced 
to  three  months'  imprisonment  for  uttering  words 
which  in  calmer  times  would  have  secured  him  a 
niche  among  his  country's  most  leal-hearted  and 
worthiest  citizens.  Accordingly,  whilst  "  cheerfully 
resigning  himself  to  suffering,"  he  enters  the  Castle 
of  York,  "  not  blushing  for  his  intentions."  A  human 
verdict  may  pronounce  him  "  Guilty  ;"  but  it  cannot 
make  him  guilty.  "  I  do  feel,"  he  writes  from  the 
prison  ;  "  but  I  will  not  sink.  Though  all  the  world 
should  forsake  me,  this  consolation  can  never  fail  me, 
that  the  great  Searcher  of  hearts,  whose  eye  watches 
over  every  atom  of  the  universe,  knows  every  secret 
intention  of  my  soul ;  and  when,  at  the  bar  of  eternal 
justice,  this  cause  shall  again  be  tried,  I  do  indulge 
the  humble  hope  that  His  approving  voice  shall  con- 
firm the  verdict  which  I  feel  His  finger  has  written 
upon  my  conscience."  A  second  time — not  long 
after  his  liberation — he  is  indicted  for  libel,  and  is 
found  guilty  ;  and  a  second  time  he  is  incarcerated  at 
York,  his  conscience  still  unburdened.  A  few  weeks 
before  the  six  months'  imprisonment  expires,  he  for- 
wards from  his  "  den"  to  the  "  Iris"  some  verses,  in 
which  he  writes  : — 


Lii'o  Studies. 


SHEFFIELD  MANOR  LODGE. 
Previous  to  the  Storm  of  March  2, 1793. 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  63 

"  Blest  with  freedom  unconfined, 

Dungeons  cannot  hold  the  soul: 
"Who  can  chain  the  immortal  mind? 
None  but  He  who  spans  the  pole  1" 

And  again,  thus  : — 

"  I  know — and  'tis  my  proudest  boast, 
That  conscience  is  itself  a  host : 
While  this  inspires  my  swelling  breast 
Let  all  forsake  me — I'm  at  rest ! 
Ten  thousand  deaths  in  every  nerve 
I'd  rather  suffer  than  deserve  /" 

But,  notwithstanding  these  valorous  contendings 
and  patient  endurances,  he  does  not  feel  at  home  in 
politics ;  his  mission  is  poetry.  "  In  early  life,"  he 
remarked,  one  day,  long  afterwards,  "  I  sometimes 
dipped  into  political  controversy ;  but  politics  be- 
come more  and  more  disagreeable  to  me  ;  I  enter  no 
further  into  them  than  my  duty,  as  an  editor  of  a 
newspaper,  compels  me  to  do  :  frequently  do  I  wish 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  them."  And  on  another 
occasion: — "Surely  never  was  moon-struck  lunatic 
more  vexatiously  haunted  by  the  foul  fiend  than  I 
have  been  through  every  nook  and  alley  of  life  by 
the  Muses!"  The  Manor-Lodge,  an  ancient  build- 
ing,  since  removed,  was  a  favorite  haunt  in  his 
meditative  hours  ;  and  it  was  here  that  many  of  his 
earlier  poems  were  conceived  or  constructed. 

And  his  inner  life  is  passing  through  a  disci- 
pline, tempering  his  poetic  genius  into  thot  calm 
pensiveness  which  is  to  be  the  characteristic  tone  of 


64  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

his  lyre.  "In  no  situation  of  life" — wo  find  him 
writing  from  Scarborough,  where,  after  "  the  narrow 
circumferance  of  a  prison,"  he  enjoys  for  a  few  weeks 
"  the  boundless  immensity  of  the  ocean" — "  have  I 
ever  met  with  unmixed  happiness.  But  shadow 
relieves  the  glare  of  light;  the  bitter  corrects  the 
sweet ;  and  solicitude  softens  the  tone  of  bliss.  And, 
issuing  some  months  later,  in  a  collected  form,  a 
series  of  poetical  effusions  which  have  appeared  in 
the  "Iris"  during  his  imprisonment — he  speaks  of 
them  as  "  composed  in  bitter  moments" — "  the  tran- 
scripts of  melancholy  feelings" — "  the  warm  effusions 
of  a  bleeding  heart."  The  subdued,  chastened  bro- 
kenness  of  his  spirit,  is  indicated  in  some  simple  lines 
sent  by  him  to  his  brother  at  this  period,  in  reply  to 
a  request  made,  after  a  long  silence,  as  the  latter  is 
leaving  Fulnec  for  the  original  Moravian  settlement 
in  Ireland : — 

"  A  blessing,  brother,  ere  we  part, 

A  farewell  blessing  you  require  ; 
Oh,  if  there  lives  in  this  cold  heart 

One  spark  of  all  our  Father's  fire : — 
That  spark,  an  humble  sacrifice, 

In  prayer  for  you  I  send  above 
'Twill  bring  a  blessing  from  the  skies, 

The  blessing  of  THE  GOD  OF  LOVE."* 

And  the  discipline  is  quickening  his  sympathies 
for  the  distressed.     "As  a  token  of  God's  remem- 
brance," he  writes,  with   a  rare   tenderness  and  de- 
*  October  15,  1804. 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  65 

livery,  to  a  humble  friend  who  is  suffering  from  loss 
of  health  and  of  employment,  "  I  have  enclosed  a 
five-pound  Bank  of  England  note,  which  I  hope  will 
be  seasonable  and  servicable  to  you  in  your  present 
low  estate.  Accept  it,  Henry ;  not  from  me,  but 
from  Him  who,  though  He  was  rich,  yet  for  our 
sakes  became  poor,  and,  by  suffering  all  the  ills  of 
poverty  (for  He  had  not  whereon  to  lay  His  head), 
sanctified  them  to  His  people.  For  His  sake,  and  in 
His  name,  receive  it ;  for  His  sake,  and  in  His 
name,  I  send  it.  I  assure  yon,  my  dear  friend,  that 
I  feel  far  more  pleasure  in  being,  on  this  occasion, 
the  minister  of  His  bounty  to  you,  than  I  could  pos- 
sibly derive  from  any  other  disposal  of  this  small 
sum,  which  I  considered  to  be  as  sacredly  your 
property,  from  the  moment  when  He  put  it  into  my 
heart  to  send  it,  as  it  had  been  mine  before." 

A  little  incident  of  another  kind  reveals  the  genial 
warmth  of  his  tender  nature.  "The  little  dog,"  he 
writes,  describing  a  visit  he  has  just  paid  to  the 
"  place  of  his  captivity"  at  York,  "  who  forsook  his 
friends  and  amily  in  the  city  to  come  and  live  with 
me,  happened  to  be  in  the  yard  with  his  master 
when  I  entered  ;  he  recognized  me  in  a  moment, 
sprang  into  my  arms,  and  almost  devoured  me  with 
joy."  The  canine  instinct  is  a  trusty  interpreter  of 
a  kind,  loving  nature. 

'  O 

7* 


CHAPTEK    IV. 


*  But  the  scene  has  changed  too  quickly ;  darkness  has  become  the 

shroud : 
Satan  has  prevailed  to  try  thee,  to  encompass  thee  with  cloud." 


Nnpoleon — The  moon  and  the  laurel — Lady  Huntingdon — "Man's 
chief  end" — Indecision — Fitful  gleams — Lights  and  shadows — "A 
coal  from  the  altar" — The  "  Wanderer  in  Switzerland" — His  "  apos- 
tasy"— Grave  thoughts — Brighter  day — The  prism — New  poem — 
Besetting  sin—"  A  new  thing  in  the  earth"— The  Lord's  Table— 
Fulnec. 


ALLUDING  one  day  to  Napoleon's  passage  of  the 
Alps  with  his  army  and  artillery,  Montgomery  char- 
acterized it  as  "worthy  of  the  daring  genuis  of  M 
man  who  would  scale  the  battlements  of  the  moon 
to  gather  a  leaf  of  laurel."  The  poet  himself  has 
sought,  for  many  days,  the  laurel-leaf  with  what  he 
calls  "a  mad  ambition;"  and  a  "burning  fever" 
it  has  been  to  him.  But  there  is  dawning  on  him 
now,  after  a  season  of  backsliding,  a  brighter  and 
more  joyous  morning;  and  its  returning  light  is  re- 
vealing to  his  heart  a  juster  estimate  of  life's  great 
business.  "  Man's  chief  end" — so  runs  the  empha- 
tic formula  of  Christian  duty,  which,  suddenly  start- 
ing into  her  memory  one  day,  awoke  the  late  Count- 
ess of  Huntingdon  out  of  her  dream  of  self-pleasing, 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  ()7 

"  is  to  glorify  God,  and  to  enjoy  Him  for  ever  ;"*  and 
these  magic  words  stimulated  her  to  a  life  of  self- 
denial.  James  Montgomery,  now  awakening  as  from 
a  trance,  begins  anew  to  gird  up  his  loins  for  the 
Christian  race.  Ct  It  is  hard,"  we  find  him  writing, 
in  March  1807,  "  to  renouoce  the  world  and  all  those 
pleasures  which  the  world  deems  not  only  innocent, 
but  useful  and  commendable ;  and  yet,  methinks, 
that  Christianity  requires  the  sacrifice  of  them."  Not 
willing  to  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  the  despised 
and  rejected  Man  of  Sorrows  through  poverty,  re- 
proach and  tribulation,  he  yet  feels  the  guilt  of  inde- 
cision hanging  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  outweighing 
all  those  little  joys  for  which  he  is  unwilling  to  relin- 
quish the  world.  But  a  "cheering  ray  of  hope,  of 
Christian  hope,"  will  break  at  times  through  "the 
pagan  darkness"  of  his  mind,  "  opening  heaven  to 
his  desiring  view;"  and  the  period  is  now  come, 
when  that  cheering  ray  is  to  be  more  than  a  fitful, 
fiickering  visitant.  "  0  my  friend,"  he  exclaims,  de- 
scribing to  a  correspondent  the  return  of  a  brighter 
season,  "  how  does  my  heart  expand,  my  soul  aspire  !" 
Yet  painfully  fitful  still  are  those  gleams  of  sun- 
shine. At  times,  he  will  trace  with  his  poetic  pencil 
the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  scene,  thus  : 

"  There  is  a  winter  in  my  soul, 
The  winter  of  despair ; 


*  The  words  occur  at  the  opening  of  the  Westminster 
Shorter  Catechism,  which  she  had  been  taught  in  her  early 
youth. 


68  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS: 

0  when  shall  Spring  its  rage  control  ? 

When  shall  the  Snowdrop  blossom  there? 
Cold  gleams  of  comfort  sometimes  dart 
A  dawn  of  glory  on  my  heart, 

But  quickly  pass  away : 
Thus  Northern-lights  the  gloom  adorn, 
And  give  the  promise  of  a  morn       • 

That  never  turns  to  day!" 

And  again,  he  will  write,  in  the  way  of  apology  foi 
not  sending  to  a  friend  a  "  methodistical  hymn" — 
"  I  seldom  dare  to  touch  holy  things.  My  lips  and 
my  heart  want  purifying  with  a-  coal  from  the  altar." 
Then  the  cloud  will  brighten  once  more ;  and  he 
will  rejoice,  though  tremblingly,  in  the  hope  of  final 
deliverance  from  his  besetting  sin — despair ;  "  for  it  is 
a  sin,"  lie  will  add,  "to  despair  when  God  proclaims 
Himself  to  be  Love — despair  gives  Him  the  lie." 

This  condition  of  heart  it  was,  which  gave  its  pen- 
sive tone  to  the  poem  which  he  now  published  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Wanderer  in  Switzerland,"  and 
which  at  once  placed  him  in  the  front  rank  of  the 
poets  of  his  age.  But  the  arrow  is  infixed  too  deeply 
in  the  heart  of  the  awakened  backslider,  to  suffer  him 
to  be  lulled  again,  even  by  Fame's  syren  strain,  into 
any  repose  save  that  calm  rest  which  is  found  at 
Christ's  own  feet.  And  such  rest,  after  his  protracted 
wanderings,  he  is  now  once  more  to  enjoy ;  "  sitting 
down  under  His  shadow  indeed  with  great  delight." 

These  years,  preceding  1806,  he  used  to  describe 
as  the  period  of  his  "  apostacy."  Not  that  he  had 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  69 

lapsed  into  any  outward  immorality  ;  but  business, 
and  bustle,  and  exciting  scenes  had  insensibly  drawn 
him  away  from  his  former  habits  of  godliness,  until 
holiness  had  lost  its  "  beauty,"  and  his  spiritual  sensi- 
bilities their  fine  edge.  But  He  who  once  said — "  I 
will  restore  that  which  the  caterpillar  hath  eaten,"  is 
now  drawing  near  to  him  in  tender  mercy ;  and, 
though  the  eminence  to  which  he  has  risen  as  a  poet 
imperils  his  returning  brokenness  of  spirit,  the  poetic 
laurel  is  not  to  adorn  a  vain-glorious  brow,  but  to  be 
consecrated  to  God  as  a  part  of  his  daily  "  living  sac- 
rifice." 

Grave  and  earnest  are  the  thoughts  which  now 
possess  him.  "  Here  I  am,"  we  have  him  saying,  for 
example  ;  u  and  what  I  am  finally  here,  I  must  for 
ever  be."  And  again — 

"I  stir  the  ashes  of  my  mind, 
And  here  and  there  a  sparkle  find, 
That  leaps  into  a  moment's  light, 
Then  dwindles  down  again  in  night. 
Yet  burns  a  fire  within  my  breast, 
Which  cannot  quench,  and  will  not  rest : 
0  for  a  sudden,  secret  rent, 
In  this  hard  heart  to  give  it  vent ! 
0  for  a  gale  of  heavenly  breath, 
To  quicken  life  again  from  death !" 

And  another  day,  alluding  to,  a  visit  to  Sheffield 
by  Henry  Steinhaur  and  sixteen  pupils  from  Fulnec, 
most  of  them  introduced  into  the  school  by  Mont- 
gomery himself,  he  says  :  "  Who  knows  what  eternal 


70  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

consequences  may  result  from  so  many  boys  and  girls 
hearing  the  simple  Gospel  of  '  Christ  crucified' 
preached  faithfully  to  them  among  the  Brethren.  It 
warms  my  cold,  and  melts  my  hard  heart,  sometimes, 
\vhen  I  think  that  I  may  thus,  accidentally,  have  been 
the  cause  of  promoting  the  everlasting  welfare  of 
some  of  my  fellow-creatures  in  this  neighborhood, 
where  I  came  an  outcast,  and  in  which  I  have  lived 
a  stranger." 

Montgomery  has  "  a  temper  made  for  happiness  ;" 
and  though,  for  a  time,  it  has  worn  a  somewhat  som- 
bre hue,  it  begins  to  brighten  under  the  genial  beams 
of  that  Sun  of  righteousness  which  now  again  shines 
-.low  11  upon  him.  Writing  to  his  brother,  who  has 
been  bereaved  of  a  beloved  child,  he  ministers  the 
comfort  wherewith  he  himself  has  now  been  comfort- 
ed of  God,  thus :  "  This  providence  of  God  you  both 
feel  has  drawn  you  nearer  to  Him ;  and,  the  nearer 
you  have  been  drawn  to  Him,  have  you  not  been  the 
more  strengthened,  and  comforted,  and  submissive  to 
His  will,  till,  at  length,  you  had  no  will  of  your  own, 
:md  were  enabled  to  rejoice  amidst  your  affliction,  in 
the  hope  of  the  glory  which  shall  hereafter  be  re- 
vealed ?"  And,  in  God's  light  seeing  light,  he  is 
learning  to  assign  to  things  God's  own  proportions — 
God's  great  things  growing  great,  and  God's  little 
things  little.  "  In  the  Bible  Society,"  said  he,  one 
day,  in  November  1813,  at  a  large  meeting  in  Shef- 
field for  the  formation  of  a  Methodist  Missionary  So- 
ciety, "  all  names  and  distinctions  of  sects  are  blend- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  71 

ed  till  they  are  lost,  like  the  prismatic  colors,  in  a 
ray  of  pure  and  perfect  light :  in  the  Missionary 
work,  though  divided,  they  are  not  discordant ;  but, 
like  the  same  colors,  displayed  and  harmonized  in 
the  rainbow,  they  form  an  arch  of  glory  ascending 
on  the  one  hand  from  earth  to  heaven,  and  on  tho 
other  descending  from  heaven  to  earth — a  bow  of 
promise,  a  covenant  of  peace,  a  sign  that  the  storm 
of  wrath  is  passing  away,  and  the  Sun  of  righteous- 
ness with  healing  in  his  wings  breaking  forth  on  all 
nations." 

Another  poem  now  issues  from  his  pen — "The 
World  before  the  Flood  ;"  and  the  fresh  fame  which 
it  brings  to  him  he  feels  to  be  a  new  temptation. 
u  How  worse  than  worthless,"  he  writes  to  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Raffles,  "  how  profane,  were  the  exercise  of  my  powers 
on  sacred  and  solemn  themes  for  my  own  glory  !  Yet 
such  is  the  deceitfulness  of  the  human  heart,  that  in 
its  holiest  offerings  (I  speak  from  the  experience  of 
mine),  it  cannot  forget  itself  arid  its  own  merits,  nor 
help  being  pleased  in  the  eyes  of  man  to  divide  with 
its  Maker  that  glory  which  its  language  ascribes  to 
Him.  This  is  the  peculiarly-besetting  sin  of  poets  as 
well  as  of  preachers  :  I  said  sin,  though  I  should 
have  said  temptation ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  avoid 
the  temptation,  but  it  is  possible  to  avoid  the  sin  by 
continually  watching  unto  prayer  against  it." 

It  is  a  touching  utterance  which  one  of  our  poets 
has  given  to  the  heart's  longings  in  certain  of  its 
phases : 


72  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

"Behold,  Thy  dust  doth  stir; 
It  moves,  it  creeps,  it  aims  at  Theo. 
Wilt  Thou  defer 
To  succor  me, 
Thy  pile  of  dust,  wherein  each  crumb 

Says  'Come?'" 
And  again,  thus : 

"  Lord  JESU,  hear  my  heart ! 
Which  hath  been  broken  now  so  long, 
That  every  part 
Hath  got  a  tongue. 
Thy  beggars  grow  ;  rid  them  away, 
To-day. 

My  love,  my  sweetness,  hear ! 
By  these  Thy  feet,  at  which  my  heart 
Lies  all  the  year, 
Pluck  out  thy  dart : 

And  heal  my  troubled  breast,  which  cries, 
Which  dies  " 

James  Montgomery,  though  still  sad  and  downcast 
in  moments  of  self-inspection,  is  already  enjoying 
unconsciously  the  light  and  the  life  of  God.  The 
man  who  has  learned  on  his  knees  to  crucify  that 
besetting  "  temptation,"  is  once  more  in  confidence 
at  the  feet  of  the  Crucified,  "  begging  himself  rich." 
At  a  Missionary  festival,  held  in  Sheffield  (May, 
1814),  he  spoke  with  great  fervor.  "The  Lord," 
said  he,  "  has  created  c  a  new  thing  in  the  earth' — 
the  disciples  of  Christ  not  only  loving  as  brethren, 
but  those  who  from  some  difference  of  opinion  before 
acted  separately,  now  uniting  in  one  purpose  to  pro- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  73 

mote  their  Master's  cause  among  men."  And,  very 
solemnly  be  added : — "  There  is  danger  in  running 
with  the  multitude  to  do  evil,  when,  amidst  the  con- 
tagion of  example,  and  the  tumult  of  publicity,  tlu; 
sinner  seems  to  lose  his  personal  responsibility  in  the 
crowd,  and  the  guilt,  divided  among  thousands,  ap- 
pears to  attach  to  none,  though,  in  truth,  it  attaches 
to  each  as  if  each  acted  alone  !  There  is  danger  also 
in  running  with  the  multitude  to  do  good — danger 
in  trying  to  escape  from  ourselves  among  the  people 
of  God.  We  may  have  a  name  among  Christians  ; 
we  may  be  affected  by  the  external  solemnity  of 
divine  worship ;  we  may  delight  in  the  joy  and 
animation  of  mee lings  like  this ;  and  yet  be  devoid 
of  the  spirit  and  power  of  godliness."  At  the  close 
of  the  festival  he  was  persuaded  so  far  to  overcome 
his  anxieties  as  to  sit  down  with  the  assembled 
friends  and  brethren  at  the  Lord's  Table.  And, 
when  it  was  over,  he  was  not  ashamed  to  write  in 
the  "Iris"  concerning  it: — "It  was  a  season  of 

o 

humble  and  holy  joy,  such  as  will  be  remembered 
even  in  heaven  with  gratitude."  The  words  were 
evidently  the  expression  of  his  own  personal  thanks- 
giving. At  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  formally  re- 
admitted into  the  Moravian  fellowship  at  Fulnec, 
rejoicing  once  again  to  "  devote  himself  to  the  Lord 
and  to  His  people." 

7 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  The  best  of  all  the  '  well-doings'  on  this  gloomy  planet.  Angela 
themselves  can  be  doing  nothing  better,  wherever  they  are  at  work  ; 
though  they  work  in  a  grander  style  than  mortals." — FOSTER^ 


A  yearning— "Greatest  and  best  work"— The  " proxy1'— "  Wherefore 
this  waste  T — Greenland — "  Civilize  and  Christianize" — The  savage 
— Cowper — "  My  Father" — Nature  and  its  God — Wordsworth. 

IN  one  of  his  sonnets,  George  Herbert  thus  articu- 
lates the  Christian  heart's  desire,  the  Christian's  mis- 
sionary yearnings  : — 

"  Lord,  I  will  mean  and  speak  thy  praise, 

Thy  praise  alone ! 
My  busy  heart  shall  spin  it  all  my  days." 

And  again  : — 

"  Wherefore  I  sing.     Yet,  since  my  heart, 

Though  pressed,  runs  thin ; 
Oh,  that  I  might  some  other  hearts  convert, 

And  so  take  up  at  use  good  store  ; 
That  to  thy  chests  there  might  be  coming  in 
Both  all  my  praise,  and  more  1" 

With  James  Montgomery  the  missionary  enterprise 
now  takes  its  place  as  "  the  greatest  and  the  best 
work  in  the  world — the  work  of  God  himself." 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  75 

"  Pray,  do  not  disappoint  me,"  he  writes,  urging 
the  attendance  of  a  speaker  at  a  missionary  meet- 
ing ;  "  I  am  not  alone  in  this  request ;  I  am  the 
proxy  of  six  hundred  millions  of  pagans — and  how 
many  Jews,  Mahometans,  and  Christians,  verily  I 
know  not." 

And,  some  months  later,  in  a  literary  Review,  he 
writes  : — "  It  is  a  fact  awfully  illustrative  of  the  es- 
sential depravity  of  the  heart,  that,  while  the  greatest 
energies  of  the  greatest  minds — the  utmost  means 
of  the  most  enlightened  nations — are,  more  or  less, 
continually  exercised  in  achieving  the  destruction  of 
their  species  and  the  desolation  of  nature,  the  labors 
of  the  missionary  are  by  numbers  treated  as  visionary, 
and  by  others  deemed  expensive."  And  he  adds  : — 
"  In  Greenland  alone — a  country  overlooked  by  all 
the  philanthropists  of  Europe,  except  by  a  few  Danish 
or  Moravian  missionaries — more  good  has  been  done 
to  mankind,  and,  certainly,  more  glory  given  to  God, 
than  has  been  directly  accomplished  by  all  the  wars 
of  Christendom,  from  the  days  of  Gustavus  Adolphus 
to  those  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte." 

His  clear  head  and  sound  heart  give  to  his  trum- 
pet a  not  uncertain  sound.  "  The  wisdom  of  man," 
he  writes,  "  says,  *  first  civilize  barbarians,  and  then 
Christianize  them ;'  and  the  wisdom  of  man  has 
proved  itself  '  foolishness'  in  every  experiment  of  the 
kind  which  it  has  made,  though  it  must  be  confessed 
that  it  has  been  too  prudent  or  too  selfish  to  make 
many.  The  wise  counsel  of  God  is  very  different 


70  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS! 

No  motives  less  powerful  than  conviction  of  sin,  fear 
of  hell,  faith  in  Christ  as  a  Saviour,  His  love  shed 
abroad  in  their  hearts,  and  the  hope  of  everlasting 
life,  can  command  attention  from  fierce,  obstinate, 
sensual  savages,  to  plans  of  civilization — much  less 
wean  them  from  their  roving,  indolent,  cruel  habits, 
aud  make  them  stationary,  social,  self-denying 
beings."  And,  urging  the  necessity  of  a  consecra- 
tion of  every  energy  to  the  work,  he  adds  : — "  We 
are  commanded  to  love  the  Lord  our  God  supremely, 
and  to  serve  Him  only ;  it  follows  that  we  must 
serve  Him  in  the  same  manner  as  we  love  Him — 
with  all  our  heart,  and  soul,  and  mind,  and  strength 
— with  all  our  corporeal  and  intellectual  faculties, 
with  all  our  affections,  and  all  our  attainments." 

Cowper,  in   his  "  Task,"  speaking  of  "  the  free- 
man whom  the  truth  makes  free,"  has  written  : — 

"  He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  Nature,  and,  though  poor  perhaps,  compared 
With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.     His  to  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel, 
But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired, 
Can  lift  to  heaven  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 
And,  smiling,  say — *  My  Father  made  them  all !'  " 

Only  by  the  CROSS  can  a  sinner  ascend  to  God : 
then,  having  reached  Him,  and  found  Him  recon- 
ciled, the  sinner  descends  to  God's  Nature.  Mont- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  7Y 

gomery  had  an  exquisite  eye  for  the  beauties  of  crea- 
tion ;  and  nothing  grieves  him  now  so  much  as  to 
find  a  poetic  interpreter  of  these  beauties  standing  in 
Nature's  Temple  as  her  priest,  and  bringing  in  his 
hand  a  Cain-like  offering.  In  a  critical  review  of 
Wordsworth's  "  Excursion,"  after  the  most  generous 
appreciation  of  its  real  merits  as  a  "work  which 
would  live,"  he  boldly,  though  with  tenderness, 
places  him  at  the  Gospel-bar,  thus  : — "  The  love  of 
Nature  is  the  purest,  the  most  sublime,  and  the 
sweetest  emotion  of  the  mind,  of  which  the  senses 
are  the  ministers ;  yet  the  love  of  Nature  alone  can- 
not ascend  from  earth  to  heaven,  conducting  us,  as  by 
the  steps  of  Jacob's  ladder,  to  the  love  of  God  ;  nor 
can  it  descend  from  heaven  to  earth,  leading  us,  by 
similar  gradations,  to  the  universal  love  of  man; 
otherwise,  it  had  not  been  necessary  for  Him,  who 
*  thought  it  not  robbery  to  be  equal  with  God,'  to 
take  upon  Himself '  the  form  of  a  servant,'  and  die 
4  the  just  for  the  unjust,  that  He  might  bring  us  to 
God'  by  HIMSELF." 

Cowper's  maxim  is  one  never  to  be  forgotten  : — 

"Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  if  thou  wouldst  taste 

His  works." 
"So  reads  be  Nature,  whom  the  lamp  of  Truth 

Illuminates." 

7* 


CHAPTER    VI. 


"  Man  in  society  is  like  a  flower 
Blown  in  its  native  bed;  'tis  there  alono 
His  faculties,  expatided  in  full  bloom, 
Shine  out — there  only  reach  their  proper  us< 


Instinct — "Love  in  the  Spirit" — "Feeble  in  Splendor" — Plying  the 
oar — The  Iris — A  scene — Holding  the  candle — The  Sunday  School 
— The  little  group— Prayer— Greenland  ;  Privations  and  self-denial 
—Appeal— Wild  Arab— Compassion— Public  affairs— Holy  walk- 
Robert  Hall— Vicarious  sacrifice— Christ's  divinity— "  Songs  of 
Sion." 


VINET  has  somewhere  said,  that  the  attachment 
which  does  not  become  "  a  love  in  the  Spirit"  is  to 
be  classed  with  those  instincts  which  mail  shares 
with  the  lower  animals.  Montgomery's  heart,  now 
warmed  and  purified  by  the  grace  of  Christ,  expands 
year  by  year  into  a  wider,  and  intenser,  and  more 
Christ-like  love.  After  "enjoying  the  holy  commu- 
nion" at  Fuluec,  and,  though  "  staggering  sometimes 
in  bearing  the  cross  up  the  rugged  steep  of  Calvary," 
yet  "  borne  up  by  the  right  hand  of  Him  whom  he 
has  accompanied  there" — he  goes  forth  into  the 
midst  of  his  fellows,  his  face  shining  with  a  certain 
divine  halo,  and  speaks  to  them  thus  : — "  What  is  the 
bond  of  this  Association  ?  Love — Christian  love — 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  79 

the  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  our  hearts,  and  en- 
dearing us  to  each  other.  This  love  is  not  like  gold, 
which,  being  expanded  under  the  hammer,  exchanges 
solid  weight  for  feeble  splendor !  It  is  not  like 
w..t.T,  spilled  out  of  a  vessel,  and  spreading  over  a 
lar<re  superficies,  but  promptly  absorbed  into  the 
earth,  or  exhaled  into  the  atmosphere.  No — 

u  *  Love  is  a  spirit,  all  compact  with  fire ; 
Love  is  a  spirit,  and  will  to  heaven  aspire:' 

Yes ;  and,  in  proportion  as  it  rises  above,  it  spreads 
below,  increasing  in  splendor  and  intensity  precisely 
according  to  its  elevation  and  diffusion." 

Though  the  turmoil  of  politics  grows  less  and  less 
congenial  to  him,  he  continues  manfully  to  ply  the 
oar.  "Politics,"  he  writes  in  September,  1816,  "I 
hate  with  so  perfect  a  hatred,  that  I  meddle  with 
them  no  more  than  I  can  help.  And,  if  I  could  dis- 
pose of  my  newspaper  for  its  value,  I  should  rejoice 
to  be  at  peace  from  them,  at  least  with  my  hands 
and  my  head,  for  ever.  Meanwhile,  however,  I  shall 
not  disguise  my  sentiments,  whenever  it  seems  my 
duty  to  avow  them."  And,  in  announcing,  some 
months  later,  the  accession  of  a  partner,  he  adds : — 
"  The  independence  of  character  which  this  journal 
has  ever  maintained,  through  evil  report  and  good  re- 
port, shall  never  be  forfeited,  whatever  other  changes 
may  take  place  in  the  editor's  years,  in  his  person,  or 
in  his  circumstances — so  long  as  he  has  the  fear  of 
God  before  his  eye,  and  the  love  of  his  country  in 


80  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

his  heart.  Engaged  in  an  enterprise,  honorable, 
but  hazardous — we  are  determined,  to  the  best  of 
our  knowledge  and  ability,  to  do  our  duty :  if  we 
succeed,  well ;  if  we  fail,  we  have  done  our  duty ; 
millions  succeed  with  doing  less — who  can  do 
more  ?" 

One  day  in  a  public  meeting  in  Sheffield,  there 
stands  upon  the  platfor^m  an  aged  woman  of  sixty, 
reading  a  chapter  of  the  New  Testament.  She  has 
begun  her  alphabet  a  few  months  previously  in  a 
Sunday-school;  and,  "  with  spectacles  on  nose,"  she 
plies  her  task  before  the  assembly — a  kind,  joyous 
face  "  cheek  by  jowl"  with  hers,  for  she  needs  a  can- 
dle to  be  held  up  to  her  as  she  slowly,  but  surely, 
deciphers  the  words  of  life.  "  It  has  been  my  lot,  at 
various  periods,"  says  James  Montgomery,  as  the 
venerable  dame  resumes  her  seat,  "  to  be  exposed  to 
the  effects  of  malicious  slander  and  detraction,  and 
to  the  still  more  dangerous  temptations  of  praise  and 
flattery ;  out  never,  during  my  whole  life,  have  I  felt 
myself  so  deeply  humbled,  or  so  honorably  exalted, 
as  during  the  time  I  have  held  the  light  for  my  ven- 
erable sister,  and  have  listened  to  her  voice.  She  has 
read  the  words  of  eternal  life,  which  are  able  to  make 
her,  as  well  as  every  one  else  who  heard  them,  \\ise 
unto  salvation.  You  will  naturally  ask,  'Why  do 
not  I  become  myself  a  Sunday-school  teacher?'  I 
have  no  doubt  I  could  adduce  reasons  tthieh  would 
satisfy  you  ;  but  I  must  honestly  confess  that  they  do 
not  so  fully  satisfy  myself."  From  that  day  the  poet 


JAMES   MONTGOMERY.  81* 

takes  his  place  as  a  religious  instructor  in  the  Red- 
Hill  Sunday-school. 

A  Christian  poet  has  described  prayer  as 

"A  kind  of  tune,  which  all  things  hear  and  fear." 
And,  again,  he  calls  it 

"  God's  breath  in  man  returning  to  his  birth  : 

The  soul's  blood : 
The  land  of  spices ;  something  understood." 

Week  after  week,  in  that  lowly  room,  is  Montgom- 
ery to  be  found  on  his  knees,  amidst  those  poor  girls 
and  boys,  praying  with  a  fervor,  and  a  simplicity, 
and  a  confiding  affection,  which  not  seldom  melt  to 
tears  the  little  group  of  pupils.  And,  if  the  veil  could 
be  lifted  which  conceals  from  all  eyes  save  ONE  the 
closet  and  its  lonely  exercises,  the  same  heart  would 
be  seen  in  a  very  peculiar  nearness  of  converse  with 
Him  who  delights  to  dwell  with  the  man  who  is  "  of 
a  humble  and  a  contrite  spirit." 

Greenland,  with  its  "  icy  mountains,"  was  at  this 
period  the  scene  of  a  missionary  self-denial  such  as 
modern  days  have  rarely  witnessed.  Resolved  to  do 
the  work  of  evangelists  among  its  degraded  people, 
at  whatever  cost  of  personal  sacrifice — the  Moravian 
brethren  did  not  hesitate  to  eat  seal's  flesh,  and  to 
prepare  with  train-oil  their  scanty  stock  of  oatmeal. 
A  crisis  of  destitution  has  overtaken  the  natives,  and 
Montgomery  publishes  in  Sheffield  an  appeal  in 'their 
behalf.  "The  wild  Arab  in  the  desert,"  says  he,  in 
his  own  graphic  and  touching  way,  "  sitting  down  to 


82  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS: 

his  meal  of  black  bread  and  salt,  nevertheless,  gives 
God  thanks,  and,  before  he  begins,  calls  aloud  to  any 
lumgry  wretch  who  may  be  within  hearing,  to  come 
and  partake  with  him.  In  Britain,  where  thousands 
sit  down  every  day  at  plentiful  tables,  so  far  as  his 
voice  may  be  heard  through  the  circuit  of  this  paper, 
the  present  advocate  of  Greenland  widows  and  or- 
phans would  remind  the  truly  charitable  of  the  words 
of  their  Redeemer,  when  he  had  counselled  those  who 
made  feasts  to  l  call  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  lame, 
the  blind' — '  they  cannot  recompense  thee,  but  thou 
shalt  be  recompensed  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just.' " 
In  the  space  of  three  weeks,  and  within  the  com- 
paratively limited  circle  of  the  readers  of  the  u  Iris," 
the  appeal  produced  130/. ;  and,  in  acknowledging 
it,  the  poet  wrote  :  "These  gifts  have  been  altogether 
voluntary,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term ;  they  have 
been  such  as  the  givers  could  not  withhold,  from  the 
impulses  of  genuine  pity.  The  purest  produce  of  the 
olive  is  the  oil  which  distills  freely  from  the  gentlest 
pressure  of  its  fruit ;  the  most  precious  juice  of  the 
grape  is  that  which  flows  from  the  thick  clusters 
heaped  abundantly  together,  without  any  other  com- 
pulsion than  their  own  ripe  weight  and  bursting  ful- 
ness. The  wine  and  oil  which  'the  dear  English 
people'  have  thus  poured  into  the  wounds  of  the  poor 
Greenlanders,  perishing  by  the  wayside,  are  the  purest 
and  most  precious  of  their  kind."  The  lips  which  so 
speak  have  been  touched  by  the  seraphim  with  a  live 
coal  from  the  brazen  altar.  A  noble  poem,  entitled 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  .  83 

"  Greenland,"  and  published  the  same  year,  proves 
still  further  how  deeply  engraven  on  his  heart  are 
the  missionary  sympathies  of  his  divine  Master. 

Public  events  necessarily  continue  to  occupy  a 
large  share  of  his  thoughts ;  and  no  easy  task  does 
he  find  it  at  once  to  uphold  popular  rights  and  to 
moderate  the  popular  zeal.  But,  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  turmoil  and  the  excitement,  he  is  enabled  to  main- 
tain the  fervor  and  the  simplicity  of  his  Christian 
walk.  "Your  letter,"  we  find  him  writing  to  an  old 
schoolfellow — John  Edwards,  of  Derby,  a  correspon- 
dent of  Wordsworth  and  of  Coleridge,  "pleased  and 
affected  me  much,  as  the  first  I  had  received  from 
any  one,  except  Brother  Ramftler,  belonging  to  the 
Brethren,  since  my  re-admission.  I  hope  that  hence- 
forth we  shall  be  brothers  in  heart  as  well  as  in 
name  and  profession — brothers  by  our  common  rela- 
tionship to  our  only  Lord  and  Master,  whose  poor 
disciples  it  is  our  calling  and  election  to  be.  May  it 
be  the  first  and  last  concern  of  our  souls  to  make 
these  sure,  and  to  love  and  seek  other  things  only  in 
reference  or  in  subordination  to  them! — for  all  our 
temporal  duties  and  affections  may  be  so  sanctified, 
that  we  may  remain  in  the  world  without  being  of 
the  world,  through  that  liberty  wherewith  Christ 
makes  His  people  free." 

One  day,  in  the  summer  of  1822,  he  is  listening 
to  Robert  Hall.  The  preacher's  subject  is  Christ's 
vicarious  sacrifice.  Speaking  of  the  rarity  of  such 
sacrifice,  he  utters  a  thought  which  Montgomery 


84  THE    CHRISTIAN   MAN    OF    LETTERS! 

greatly  relishes.  "  He  wished,"  is  the  poet's  re- 
mark afterwards  to  a  friend,  "  to  impress  his  audi- 
tory with  the  importance  of  Christ's  death,  as  an 
event  standing  alone  in  the  annals  of  the  world, 
without  a  parallel,  agreeably  to  that  passage  of 
Scripture,  'For  scarcely  for  a  righteous  man  will 
one  die;  yet  peradventure  for  a  good  man  some 
would  even  dare  to  die.  But  God  commendeth  His 
love  toward  us,  in  that,  while  we  were  yet  sinners, 
Christ  died  for  us.'  Then  it  was  that  he  burst 
forth,  first  employing  the  word  monument,  and  then 
column  ;  next  trying  the  weaker  word  plain,  till  at 
length  he  rushed  upon  champaign — when  away  he 
went,  and  bore  us  away  with  him,  contemplating  the 
sacrificial  death  of  the  Saviour  as  l  a  single  monu- 
ment, a  column  standing  in  the  champaign  and  wil- 
derness of  the  universe,  inscribed  with  characters 
found  on  none  other !'  "  And,  on  the  same  occasion, 
our  poet  gives  utterance  to  an  article  of  his  heart's 
creed,  which  ever  formed  the  very  corner-stone  of 
all  his  hopes  as  a  sinner.  "It  is  the  Divinity  of 
Christ,"  he  continues,  "  which  stamps  the  sacrifice 
of  His  humanity  with  infinite  importance.  These 
were  admirably  connected  by  Mr.  Hall ;  and  they 
must  be  really  connected  by  us.  For  my  part,  I 
cannot  conceive  in  what  any  alleged  efficacy  of  the 
atoning  sacrifice  of  Christ  could  consist,  abstracted 
from  His  Godhead ;  and  the  opposers  of  the  one — 
very  consistently,  because  necessity  is  laid  upon  them 
— relinquish  the  other.  The  doctrines  stand  or  fall 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  85 

with  each  other ;  and,  before  Socinians  can  hope  to 
get  rid  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ,  they  must  burn  the 
Bible — and  even  then  would  that  doctrine  be  seen 
rising  out  of  the  ashes  of  the  imperishable  Word  of 
truth." 

Alas !  it  is  not  professed  Socinians  only  who  are 
lapsing  into  this  twofold  error.  Scarcely  a  man 
amongst  the  rejectors  of  the  sacrificial  sense  of 
Christ's  atoning  death,  who  are  so  rife  at  this  day, 
continues  beyond  a  few  years  to  uphold  His  Divinity. 
And  the  transition  is  simple  and  easy.  The  denier 
of  the  necessity  of  a  divine  Saviour  to  atone,  passes 
of  necessity  to  the  denial  of  the  fact  of  a  divine 
Saviour  at  all.  Montgomery  clings  to  the  doctrine 
of  a  Substitutory  Atonement,  as  the  very  sheet- 
anchor  of  his  faith. 

In  his  "  Songs  of  Sion,"  published  about  this  pe- 
riod, he  strings  his  sweet  lyre  to  the  same  heavenly 
melody.  "  It  is  far  from  popular,"  said  he  one  day 
to  a  friend,  who  was  inquiring  if  the  book  was  making 
its  way,  "  to  become  the  champion  of  the  Cross,  even 
in  this  way  ;  but  it  must  be  an  honor  to  any  poet  to 
furnish  words  in  which  sincere  Christians  may  ap- 
propriately express  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their  hopes 
and  their  fears." 

8 


CHAPTER    VII. 


"  Dress  and  undress  thy  soul.    Mark  the  decay 

<>\vth  of  it. 
In  l.rirf,  acquit  thce  bravely  ;  play  the  ni.-m." 


An  hero  in  humble  life— One  talent—"  How  d  '  V"— A-slck- 

ti.-d  -II. -art.    ii"t    dldi-r  — A   traveller  —  In:  ]  :nent— 

Ovution  -"  Humble  under  all  that  glory" — Triumph  »»r  truth. 

THERE  lived  in  those  days,  in  a  ImmU ••  room  in 
Sheflield,  a  Christian  shoemaker,  who,  after  calling 
one  evening  on  Montgomery  for  a  subscription  "in 
aid  of  one  of  those  many  works  of  mercy  in  which 
he  was  engaged,"  was  suddenly  summoned,  a  day  or 
two  afterwards,  to  his  heavenly  rest.  Samuel  Hill 
was  very  poor — so  poor  that  he  could  not  always 
afford  to  pay  t<>  a  'I'racit  Society,  of  which  he  was  a 
innnhcr,  his  subscription  of  six  shillings  a-year ;  but 
so  rich  was  ho  in  faith,  so  ripe  in  religious  experi- 
f,  and  so  mighty  in  prayer,  that  Montgomery 
us,  that,  for  the  sake  of  being  presi-rit  at  the 
s.,r.i«'iy's  monthly  private  meeting  for  prayer,  he 
many  a  lime,  notwithstanding  his  constitutional  in- 
dolence and  weakness,  "left  his  warm  bed  on  a  cold 
winter's  morning.''  "I  declare  to  you,"  is  his  r6- 
inark  at  the  first  meeting  after  the  shoemaker's  sud- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  87 

den  departure  from  this  life,  "  that  I  never  stood  in 
the  presence  of  any  man  with  such  trembling  as  I 
used  to  feel  beside  that  humble  individual.  Let  the 
weather  be  as  cold  as  it  would,  our  hearts  were  sure 
to  be  warmed  here.  O  God!  I  thought — Ihoii  hast 
given  to  that  man  perhaps  only  one  talent ;  but  how 
does  he  use  it  ?"  And  on  the  evening  of  his  inter- 
ment the  poet  adds,  in  another  assembly  : — "  Could 
I  now  be  reinstated  in  the  heyday  of  youth,  with  the 
promise  of  fifty  additional  years  of  life,  in  which  I 
might  enjoy  all  and  more  than  all  the  honors  I  have 
received  from  man  since  the  period  when  I  first  set 
up  in  my  heart  that  vain  and  delusive  idol  of  human 
applause,  whic.li  I  have  so  long  and  so  intensely  wor- 
shipped at  the  peril  of  my  soul — I  say,  rather  than 
voluntarily  incur  the  dreadful  risks  arising  from  the 
repetition  of  such  popular  praise  as  even  I  have  expe- 
rienced, I  would  prefer  to  occupy  that  grave  in  which 
the  remains  of  our  friend  are  now  for  their  first  night 
sleeping,  '  in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  resurrec- 
tion to  eternal  life  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  " 
An  incident  like  this  reveals,  as  in  the  light  of  a  sun- 
beam, that  growing  lowliness  which  adorns  him  in 
these  ripening  \ 

Another  glimpse  into  his  inner  life  occurs  on  one 
of  those  Scenes  of  tender  friendship  which  his  genial 
heart  and  warm  spiritual  sensibilities  so  often  bright- 
ens. "I  sometimes  returned  from  vi.iting  you,"  he 
writes  one  d-iy  in  January,  1823,  to  a  dear  friend, 
who  has  been  unexpectedly  restored  to  convalescence, 


88  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

"  with  feelings  as  if  we  had  parted  for  the  last  time 
in  this  world.  On  those  occasions,  however,  I  wept 
rather  for  myself  than  for  you,  fearing  that,  when  my 
heart  and  flesh  should  fail,  I  might  not  have  that 
clear,  simple,  scriptural  confidence  and  hope — though 
humble,  full  of  immortality — which  I  saw,  and  re- 
joiced to  see,  in  you.  *  So  might  I  live,  so  may  I 
die,  in  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me  and 
gave  Himself  for  me!'  was  the  constant  prayer 
with  which  I  closed  your  door.  You  had  been  pe- 
culiarly endeared  by  our  frequent  association  in  the 
most  delightful  labors  in  the  cause  of  Him  whose 
service  is  perfect  freedom;  and  therefore  I  thought 
I  had  a  right — I  will  not  call  it  a  claim — to  be 
peculiarly  interested  in  your  sufferings  and  in  your 
consolations.  Thanks  be  to  God,  the  latter  now 
abound." 

A  glimpse  of  a  different  kind  we  have  in  a  letter 
of  this  period  thus  : — "  You  may  think  that  I  forget 
you,  because  I  so  seldom  tell  you  on  paper  that  I 
remember  you,  both  with  gratitude  and  esteem,  for 
many  kindnesses  shown  to  me,  especially  in  former 
days;  but  the  truth  is,  that  my  letter- writing  age  is 
gone  by — never  to  return — unless  youth,  the  season 
for  correspondence,  comes  back  again.  That,  how- 
ever, cannot  be  :  childhood,  I  believe,  does  sometimes 
pay  a  second  visit  to  man — youth,  never.  The  heart, 
however,  when  it  is  right,  is  always  young,  and 
knows  neither  decay  nor  coolness:  I  cannot  boast 
of  mine  in  other  respects ;  but  assuredly,  in  the  in- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  89 

• 

tegrity  of  its  affections,  it  has  not  grown  a  moment 
older  these  five-and-t\venty  years." 

One  evening,  in  July  1825,  a  traveller  from  New 
York  paid  a  brief  visit  to  our  poet,  and  published 
afterward  his  impressions  of  him.  Introduced  into 
a  parlor  5n  which  is  "  a  table  set  for  tea,"  the  stranger 
soon  finds  himself  at  home.  "  The  poet,"  he  wrote, 
describing  the  interview,  "  is  now  at  the  age  of  fifty- 
four.  In  his  person  he  is  slender  and  delicate,  rather 
below  the  common  size.  His  complexion  is  light, 
with  a  Roman  nose,  high  forehead,  slightly  bald,  and 
a  clear  eye,  not  unfroquently  downcast,  betraying  a 
modest  degree  of  diffidence.  In  his  manners,  the  au- 
thor manifests  all  that  mildness,  amiable  simplicity  ? 
and  kindness  of  heart,  so  conspicuous  in  his  writings. 
His  flow  of  conversation  is  copious,  easy,  and  per- 
fectly free  from  affectation.  His  sentiments  and 
opinions  on  all  subjects  of  remark  were  expressed 
with  decision  and  frankness,  but  at  the  same  time 
with  a  becoming  modesty.  His  language  is  polished 
and  select,  betraying  occasionally  the  elevation  of 
poetry,  but  exempt  from  any  appearance  of  pedantry. 
While  the  merits  of  all  his  cotemporaries  were  freely 
discussed,  and  the  meed  of  discriminating  praise  lib- 
erally awarded  to  each,  not  the  slightest  allusion  was 
made  to  his  own  productions,  although  they  are  quite 
as  much  read  in  our  country  as  those  of  any  other 
living  poet.  It  would  have  been  a  breach  of  polite- 
ness in  me  to  have  told  him  how  many  generous 
sentiments  he  has  instilled,  and  how  many  hearts  he 
8* 


90  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS: 

» 

has  made  better,  beyond  the  Atlantic.  He  appears 
to  be  universally  respected  and  beloved  in  the  place 
of  his  residence." 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  the  poet  finally  surren- 
ders into  other  hands  the  "  Iris,"  on  which  he  has  ex- 
pended so  many  years  of  toil,  and  through  whose 
columns  he  has  given  forth  to  the  world  so  many 
earnest  and  noble  thoughts.  "From  the  first  mo- 
ment," are  his  farewell  words,  "  that  I  became  the 
director  of  a  public  journal,  I  took  my  own  ground ; 
I  have  stood  on  it  through  many  years  of  changes ; 
and  I  rest  by  it  this  day,  as  having  afforded  me  a 
shelter  through  the  far  greater  portion  of  my  life, 
and  yet  offering  me  a  grave  when  I  shall  no  longer 
have  a  part  in  anything  which  is  done  under 
the  sun.  And  this  was  my  ground — a  plain  deter- 
mination, come  wind  or  sun,  come  fire  or  flood,  to 
do  what  was  right.  I  lay  stress  on  the  purpose,  not 
on  the  performance  ;  for  this  was  the  polar  star  to 
which  my  compass  pointed,  though  with  considerable 
4  variation  of  the  needle.' " 

Montgomery's  religion  is  a  sterling  thing,  mould- 
ing his  whole  commercial  transactions,  and  regulat- 
ing his  whole  life.  And  now,  retiring  from  public 
life,  he  receives  from  his  fellow-townsmen,  through 
the  lips  of  their  chairman,  Lord  Milton,  a  verdict  of 
approval,  which  draws  forth  from  him  these  words  : 
— "  There  is  a  splendid  Italian  sonnet  by  Giovanni- 
battista  Zappi,  on  Judith  returning  to  Bethulia,  with 
the  head  of  Holofernes  in  one  hand  and  the  sword 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  91 

which  had  smitten  it  off  in  the  other.  The  popu- 
lace hailed  her  at  the  gates,  through  the  streets,  and 
from  the  roofs,  as  the  deliverer  of  her  native  city ; 
the  maidens  pressed  around,  to  kiss  her  garment, 
'  but  not  her  hand  ;'  while  a  hundred  of  the  sons  of 
the  prophets  went  before,  proclaiming  her  achieve- 
ment, and  foretelling  her  glory  '  from  the  sun's  rising 
to  his  rest.'  The  poet  adds — 

"  *  Stavasi  tutta  umile  in  tanta  gloria.' 

There  is  an  untranslatable  idiom  in  the  original, 
which  gives  exquisite  point  to  the  idea  ;  but  the 
simple  meaning  may  suffice  us — 

"  *  She  was  humble  under  all  that  glory.* 

And  this  is  the  frame  of  mind  which  becomes  me 
on  the  present  occasion.  Since  I  came  to  this  town, 
I  have  stood  through  many  a  fierce  and  bitter  storm ; 
and  I  wrapt  the  mantle  of  pride  tighter  and  tighter 
about  my  bosom,  the  heavier  and  harder  the  blast 
beat  upon  me :  nay,  when  I  was  prostrate  in  the 
dust,  without  strength  to  rise,  or  a  friend  powerful 
enough  to  raise  me,  I  still  clung  to  my  pride,  or, 
rather,  my  pride  clung  to  me,  like  the  venomed  robe 
of  Hercules,  not  to  be  torn  away  but  at  the  expense 
of  life  itself.  However  haughtily  I  may  have  earned 
myself  in  later  trials  or  conflicts,  the  warmth  and 
sunshine  of  this  evening,  within  these  walls,  compel 
me  irresistibly,  because  willingly,  to  cast  off  every  in- 
cumbrance,  to  lay  my  pride  at  your  feet,  and  stand 


92  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS. 

before  you  modestly,  yet  uprightly  in  the  garment  of 
humility." 

Such  is  the  attitude  of  all  "true  men."  He  who 
in  his  closet  was  heard  whispering — "  I  have  in  my- 
self no  might.  O  God,  help  mo,  Amen.  O  G«»  1 
help  me,  Amen  !"  met  the  remonstrances  of  timid 
friends  with  this  resolve — "Though  there  were  as 
many  devils  in  Worms  as  there  are  tiles  on  the 
houses,  I  would  enter  the  mouth  of  this  Behemoth." 

"  Erect  before  his  fellows ;  on  his  knees  before  God." 

This  ovation  of  Montgomery's  was  hailed  by  his 
Christian  friends  as  something  more  than  a  mere 
personal  triumph.  "Your  muse,"  wrote  one  of 
them,  "  hns  been  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake ; 
and,  after  having  passed  through  much  tribulation, 
she  now  appears,  like  the  saints  before  the  throne, 
clothed  in  wliite  raiment,  and  holding  in  her  hand 
the  emblematic  p:ilrn.  I  have  contemplated  the 
honors  with  which  you  have  been  arrayed  as  the 
fruits  of  a  victory,  a  glorious  victory,  in  which  the 
whole  Christian  world  should  participate.  It  is  the 
triumph  of  truth,  and  virtue,  and  piety,  over  error 
and  vice  and  impiety." 


OHAPTEE   VIII. 


"Thy  lamp,  mysterious  Word! 
"Which  whoso  sees,  no  longer  wanders  lost, 
With  intellects  bemazed  in  endless  doubt, 
But  runs  the  road  of  wisdom." 


Mellowed  heavenliness— House  of  mourning—"  The  price  of  wealth" 
— His  "  moderation" — "  Lake  School" — Offence  of  the  Cross — "  Too 
vile" — Heaven's  joys — A  welcome — Indian  backwoods — Advancing 
years—"  Working  materials"— Mount  Sion— An  aspiration. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  these  outward  honors,  his  inner 
life  is  acquiring  daily  a  more  chastened  mellowness. 
"  Oh,  it  is  a  blessing,  beyond  all  the  mere  enjoyment 
of  good  things  under  the  sun,"  we  find  him  writing 
to  his  nieces  in  the  summer  of  1826,  "  to  know  that 
we  are  sinners,  and  that  Christ  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners.  I  entreat  you,  my  dear,  dear  nieces, 
that  you  will  employ  some  portions — a  little  at  a 
time — of  every  day  in  reading  the  New  Testament, 
especially  the  four  Gospels,  and  more  particularly 
that  of  St.  John,  in  which  you  will  find  refreshment 
for  your  minds  when  they  are  languid,  comfort  for 
your  spirits  when  they  are  troubled,  and  peace  for 
your  souls  when  you  are  willing  to  hear  what  your 
Saviour  has  done  and  suffered  for  you.  And  pray, 
each  for  yourself,  that  God  would  bless  you  and  fulfil 


94  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

in  you  every  purpose  of  His  mercy,  for  which  He  has 
sent  your  present  trials  ;  and  if  you  can  find  freedom, 
pray  together  in  your  own  simple  langu:i<re,  and 
your  prayers  will  be  answered,  for  the  Holy  Spirit 
will  help  your  infirmities." 

And  the  same  mellowed  spirit  would  indicate  its 
heavenly  tastes  in  such  utterances  as  these  : — "  I  take 
your  offer  very  kindly,  and  should  have  been  very 
happy  to  avail  myself  of  your  hospitality,  had  I  been 
at  liberty  to  visit  York  during  the  musical  festival ; 
but  duty  calls  me  another  way.  I  must  go  to  the 
house  of  suffering — though  I  cannot  call  it  the  house 
of  mourning,  because  there  is  joy  and  hope  in  tribu- 
lation there." 

And,  in  another  direction,  thus  : — "  I  am  not  rich 
— I  never  took  the  means  to  be  so  ;  I  have  often 
said  that  I  could  not  afford  to  pay  the  price  of  wealth, 
and  that,  as  there  was  neither  a  law  of  nature  nor  an 
Act  of  Parliament  to  compel  me  to  bejoine  rich,  I 
would  not  sell  all  my  peace  of  mind,  nor  consume 
my  time,  in  gathering  what  I  might  never  enjoy.  I 
do  not  despise  money  ;  I  love  it  as  much  as  any  man 
ought  to  do,  and  perhaps  something  more  at  particu- 
lar times:  but  a  small  provision  is  enough  for  my 
few  wants,  and  the  Lord  has  made  that  provision  for 
me.  I  owe  it  all  to  Him  ;  I  cannot  say  that  my 
skill,  or  industry,  or  merit  of  any  kind,  has  acquired 
it :  I  have  received  it  as  a  free  gift  at  His  hands ; 
and  to  Him  I  would  consecrate  it,  and  every  other 
talent,  as  an  unprofitable  servant  at  the  best,  and  too 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  95 

often  as  a  slothful  and  wicked  one."  It  is  a  fitting 
commentary  upon  these  words,  that,  when  the  writer 
sold  his  paper  for  £400,  he  allowed  the  money 
(which  was  considered  a  very  moderate  price  for 
the  paper)  to  remain  in  the  purchaser's  hands — in- 
tending, should  the  paper  not  succeed  in  strange 
hands,  to  remit  the  whole  sum  agreed  upon  for  copy- 
right. If  every  disciple  of  Christ  "  made  his  modera- 
tion known  unto  all  men"  as  unmistakeably  as  James 
Montgomery,  the  Christian  name  would  not  have  its 
fair  escutcheon  stained  in  these  days  with  so  many 
grievous  blots. 

It  was  the  failing  of  Wordsworth  and  of  all  the 
uLake  School,"  that  their  poetry  ignored  the  pecu- 
liar doctrines  of  the  Gospel,  and  especially  man's 
total  depravity.  Montgomery,  as  he  advances  in 
years  and  in  the  divine  life,  instead  of  modifying 
his  earlier  belief  respecting  our  fallen  nature,  is 
constrained  to  darken  the  picture  even  into  a  deeper 
hue.  For  example,  in  a  new  poem,  called  "  Pelican 
Island,"  which  appeared  in  the  autumn  of  1827,  we 
find  him  apostrophising  man  thus : 

"  Man,  in  the  imago  of  his  Maker  formed ; 
Man,  to  the  image  of  his  tempter  fallen  1 
I  saw  him  sunk  in  loathsome  degradation, 
A  naked,  fierce,  ungovernable  savage, 
Companion  to  the  brutes;  himself  more  brutal." 

u  It  is  the  '  offence  of  the  Cross,' "  was  the  poet's  re- 
mark one  day  to  a  friend,  who  was  mentioning  a 
complaint  of  a  critic  that  he  had  made  man  "  too 


96  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  '. 

vile."  "  Any  direct  allusion  to  the  state  of  the  poor 
heathen — their  barbarity  and  immorality  on  the  one 
hand,  or  their  religious  experience  and  their  hopes 
of  salvation  on  the  other — is  generally  unpalatable  : 
I  have  long  had  to  endure  a  good  deal  for  my  senti- 
ments on  these  points,  as  well  from  the  open  pity  as 
from  the  secret  contempt  of  some  of  my  readers." 

Hastening  onwards  to  the  Celestial  City,  his  soul 
seems  oftentimes  rapt  into  a  very  peculiar  fellowship 
with  its  holy  joys.  "Prayer,"  for  example,  is  his 
remark  on  one  occasion,  "  is  not  only  the  sublimest 
expression  of  the  Church  on  earth,  but  there  seems 
to  be  something  very  like  prayer  among  the  souls 
of  the  martyrs  in  heaven  itself — 'How  long,  0  Lord, 
holy  and  true,  dost  thou  not  judge  and  avenge  our 
blood  on  them  that  dwell  on  the  earth  !'  " 

And,  on  another  occasion,  addressing,  on  her  birth- 
day, a  friend  under  whose  roof  he  is  sojourning  on 
one  of  his  brief  occasional  tours  on  behalf  of  the 
Bible  Society,  he  writes  : — 

"  "When  suffering  life — Shall  end  its  strife 

In  death's  serene  repose ; 
Be  Sabbath  rest — On  Jesu's  breast, 

Its  everlasting  close ; 
Your  daily  cross  may  you  lay  down, 
To  gain  an  everlasting  crown  1" 

And,  welcoming  home  a  beloved  friend  who, 
during  an  absence  of  five  years,  has,  on  a  mission- 
ary errand,  circumnavigated  the  globe  : — "  May  you 
long  enjoy  the  blessing  of  a  heart  right  in  the  sight 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  V. 

of  God,  which  shall  render  all  his  His  dispensations, 
afflictive  or  joyous,  right  in  your  sight  !  This  is  the 
Christian's  secret  of  happiness ;  may  you  ever  be  in 
possession  of  it  in  this  world  of  trials,  where  faith  is 
perpetually  put  to  proof,  and  often  staggers,  not  ;it 
the  promises  only,  but  at  the  wisdom  and  goodness 
of  God,  from  our  frailty  and  ignorance  in  judging  of 
His  works  and  ways  !" 

And,  on  still  another  occasion,  referring  to  Brain- 
erd  in  the  Indian  backwoods,  and  to  his  suffering  and 
solitude,  he  reveals  indirectly  his  own  heavenly  tone 
of  soul,  thus : — "  Was  there  at  such  times,  on  the 
face  of  the  inhabited  earth,  an  object  lovelier  in  the 
sight  of  heaven,  than  that  lonely  man,  in  the  depths 
of  immense  forests,  reading  the  words  of  eternal  life 
for  himself,  or  pouring  out  his  soul,  amidst  the 
silence  of  the  desert,  in  prayer  for  the  salvation  of 
the  heathen  ?  Yes,  there  was  an  object  yet  lovelier — 
the  same  man,  after  he  had  been  thus  hidden  in  the 
secret  pavilion  of  the  Most  High,  coming  forth  from 
j^- under  the  wings  of  the  Almighty  to  teach  wondering 
savages  among  whom  God  was  unknown  and  Christ 
was  not  named,  the  lessons  which  he  had  learned  in 
his  retirement.  Brainerd,  thus  occupied,  presented 
a  spectacle  to  the  eyes  of  angels  which  they  might 
behold  with  delight,  and  even  long  to  be  partakers 
with  him  in  the  honor  and  felicity  of  ministering  to 
those  heirs  of  salvation." 

Advancing  years  are  beginning  to  tell  upon  his 
never  very  robust  frame.  "  I  have  not  been  able  to 


98  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS. 

accept,"  we  find  him  writing,  March  16,  1830,  to  the 
secretary  of  the  Manchester  Wesleyan  Missionary 
Committee, u  one  invitation  of  this  kind,  though  I  have 
had  many — not  because  my  heart  has  changed,  but 
/  am  not  even  the  man  that  I  was :  the  bruised  reed 
£rows  weaker  and  weaker  with  handling,  and  the 
smoking  flax  dimmer  and  dimmer  with  blowing 
upon,  while  the  ashes  scatter  to  the  wind."  And, 
on  another  occasion,  he  says  : — "  I  sometimes  seem 
to  myself  quite  worn  out,  or  so  fast  wearing,  as  if, 
atom  by  atom,  I  were  falling  into  dust ;  thought, 
feeling,  fancy,  memory,  invention,  fear,  hope,  affec- 
tion— all  exhausted :  and  yet  there  are  working  ma- 
terials and  working  power  in  me  which  eternity  can- 
not exhaust." 

But  his  Christian  zeal  and  boldness  freshen  into 
new  fragrance.  At  a  local  festival,  attended  by  a 
host  of  political  and  literary  celebrities,  he  rose  to 
acknowledge  the  cordial  words  of  Lord  Morpeth 
(now  Earl  of  Carlisle)  who,  in  proposing  his  health, 
had  spoken  of  "  the  genius  and  virtues  of  the  hard, 
who,  having  scaled  the  height  of  Parnassus,  had, 
with  equal  success,  directed  his  poetical  footsteps 
toward  the  holier  elevation  of  Mount  Sion."  "  And 
I  am  not  ashamed,"  were  Montgomery's  closing 
words  in  reply,  "  in  this  festive  meeting  to  say,  with 
reference  to  that  place  which  has  been  the  subject 
of  my  later  themes — God  grant  we  may  all  meet 
there  V' 


CHAPTEE    IX. 


44  If  we  could  see  below 
The  sphere  of  virtue  and  each  shining  grace, 

As  plainly  as  that  above  doth  show  ; 
This  were  the  better  sky,  the  brighter  place. 

God  hath  made  stars  the  fire 
To  set  off  virtues  ;  griefs  to  set  off  sinning.11 


Heaven— Thanksgiving— Marah— Songs  in  wilderness— A  trial— Fresh 
dawning  of  life — Apostolic  look— Communion  of  Holy  Ghost— Green 
old  age—4'  Heaven  in  his  eye"— Manner  of  life— Simplicity— State- 
pension— Sir  Walter  Scott— A  Contrast—44  Stroke  of  fate"— Sunset 
and  sunrise — A  44  translation." 

IN  heaven,  the  saint,  walking  in  God's  own  imme- 
diate light,  shall  interpret  perfectly  the  (as  yet)  in- 
distinct hieroglyphics  by  which  now  he  reads  God's 
leadings;  and  the  hallelujah  which  celebrates  them 
shall  be  one  of  unmingled  thanksgiving — u  Just  and 
true  are  all  thy  ways,  0  thou  King  of  saints."  Of 
all  those  leadings,  none  shall  seem  so  blessed  as  the 
sojournings  at  Marah  and  in  Baca. 

"  I  scarce  believed, 
Till  grief  did  tell  me  roundly,  that  I  lived." 

James  Montgomery,  now  nearing  heaven  in  spirit,  is 
already  singing  in  the  wilderness  some  of  heaven's 
melodies  of  praise.  "Though  it  is  true,"  we  find 


100  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS! 

him  writing  to  a  friend  at  this  period,  ll  that  certain 
exceedingly  great  and  bitter  disappointments  of  my 
hopes  and  schemes  in  former  life  left  a  burthen  and  a 
gloom  which  have  never  ceased  to  make  the  remain- 
der of  my  way  mo;e  or  less  dreary,  yet  I  dare  not 
say  at  this  hour,  much  as  I  lament  many  things  wlilc'i 
I  have  done,  that  I  wish  anything  which  I  have  suf- 
fered in  the  ccurso  of  providence,  and  which  has  not 
befallen  me  from  my  own  fault,  had  not  happened. 
Miserable  I  ir.ay  have  been  made  by  such  evaits  as 
we  usually  call  misfortunes  ;  but  that  I  should  have 
been  less  so,  if  they  had  not  been  permitted  to  re- 
mind me  that  here  is  not  my  rest,  I  dare  not  even 
suppose,  much  less  assert.  I  have  actually  lived  long 
enough  to  see  that  some  of  the  most  afflictive  of  these 
were  the  means  of  preserving  me  from  far  greater 
evils.  I  see  wisdom,  and  goodness,  and  mercy, 
guarding  and  guiding  me,  and  overruling,  for  my 
good,  things  which  almost  broke  my  heart  when 
they  came  upon  me,  and  which  seemed  at  the  mo- 
ment to  cut  off  hope  altogether." 

What  words  can  utter  the  accession  of  strength 
and  of  calm  joy,   which    a  tutorage  in    the  truly 
heavenly  art  of  "  in  erery iking  giving  thanks"  brings 
to  life's  daily  conflicts  and  labors  and  cross-bearings  ? 
"  Then  do  those  powers,  which  work  for  grief,         / 
Enter  thy  pay, 
And  day  by  day, 
Labor  thy  praise  and  my  relief: 
With  care  and  courage  building  me, 
Till  I  reach  heaven,  and — much  more — THEE." 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  101 

One  of  his  sorest  trials  at  this  period  is  "an  op- 
pression and  an  obstruction  in  all  the  faculties  of 
mind  and  body,"  which  often  brings  with  it "  a  cloud 
which  falls  in  no  showers  of  refreshment,  but  seems 
to  stagnate  in  the  heavens,  and  to  chill  and  darken 
his  very  soul."  But  "  natural  feeling"  will  again  "  be- 
gin to  creep  along  his  nerves,  and  to  quicken  his 
whole  frame ;"  and  existence,  from  being  a  burthen 
which  he  dares  not  lay  down,  but  finds  harder  to 
carry  as  the  length  of  the  way  to  the  grave  grows 
shorter,  will  once  more  become  a  delight,  and,  with 
returning  bodily  vigor,  a  fresh  "  dawning  of  life  and 
warmth  of  reviving  hope  rouses  him  to  new  exertion." 
These  seasons  of  gloom,  however,  have  their  own  so- 
lacement.  "  I  am  not  aware,"  we  find  him  writing, 
September  23,  1833,  "that  you  are  much  tried  in 
this  peculiar  way ;  but  you  cannot  expect  to  escape 
entirely  this  thorn  in  the  flesh,  otherwise  you  will 
never  have  the  perfect  manifestation  that  His  t  grace 
is  sufficient  for  you,  and  His  strength  made  perfect 
in  weakness.'  By  any  way — by  every  way — which 
He  is  pleased  to  appoint,  may  He  purify  youy.  till, 
like  gold  seven  times  passed  through  the  fire,  you  are 
meet  to  receive  the  ineffaceable  stamp  of  His  image 
and  superscription!" 

Now, "  three-score  years,  and  one,"  he  has  gathered 
upon  him  an  air  of  almost  apostolic  sanctity.  It  is 
not  unusual  for  him,,  for  example,  to  commence  a 
platform-address  at  a  missionary  meeting,  thus  i  "The 
grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  love  of 


102  THE    CHRISTIAN   MAN    OF    LETTERS  : 

and  the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  with  us  all. 
Amen."  On  another  occasion,  alluding  to  those  same 
words,  he  remarks :  "  I  have  no  more  doubt  of  t  the 
communion  of  the  Holy  Ghost'  than  I  have  of  *  the 
grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,'  or  of '  the  love  of 
the  Father ;'  but  I  do  not  enjoy  it  as  I  ought,  as  I 
might,  and  as  I  pray  daily  that  I  may."  It  is  because 
he  is  gradually  realizing  more  intensely  the  Spirit's 
indwelling,  that  his  outward  walk,  and  even  person, 
are  contracting  a  more  heavenly  hue.  Like  that 
u  hope"  of  which  the  poet  so  beautifully  sings,  he 
almost  literally, 

"  With  uplifted  foot,  set  free  from  earth, 
Pants  for  the  place  of  his  ethereal  birth, 
And  crowns  the  soul,  while  yet  a  mourner  here, 
"With  wreaths  like  those  triumphant  spirits  wear." 

A  friend  who  was  with  him  one  morning  in  a 
large  circle,  when  Montgomery  was  invited  to  lead 
the  devotions,  felt  "  the  fervor,  the  simplicity,  and  the 
sweetness"  of  his  breathings,  as  if  already  foretastes 
of  heaven. 

But  it  is  only  in  momentary  moods  that  the  bur- 
then of  the  mortal  coil  oppresses  him.  "  Montgom- 
ery is  now,"  wrote  a  Sheffield  friend,  in  August  1835, 
"  not  only  a  poet  in  full  possession  of  fame,  and  com- 
manding the  most  extensive  circle  of  readers  that  any 
poet  can  vboast,  but  he  is  justly  appreciated  as  a  good 
man,  of  extraordinary  capabilities,  by  his  townsmen, 
and  the  country  at  large  ;  and  Nature,  as  if  seconding 
the  tardy  justice  of  man  in  redeeming  the  past,  has 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  103 

rendered  him  the  very  youngest  man  of  his  years 
ever  beheld,  for  had  lie  not  been  known  to  the  world 
as  a  poet  thirty  years,  we  really  think  he  might  at 
this  time  pass  for  thirty — such  is  the  slightness  of 
his  figure,  the  elasticity  of  his  step,  the  smoothness 
of  his  fair  brow,  the  mobility  arid  playfulness  of  his 
features  when  in  conversation.  This  circumstance,  it 
is  true,  makes  a  great  difference ;  the  lighting  up  of 
Montgomery's  eye  in  the  moment  when  he  is  warmed 
by  his  subject,  or  induced  to  smile  to  others,  is  abso- 
lutely electrical."  But  it  is 

"Heaven  in  his  eye," 

which  gives  to  him  the  choicest  charm — to  those, 
at  least,  who  can  discern  that  peculiar  characteristic. 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  our  poet's 
manner  of  life.  "  With  the  world,  as  to  its  goods 
and  luxuries,"  writes  the  same  friend,  "  he  has  nothing 
to  do ;  but  with  its  sorrows,  ignorance,  and  want,  he 
is  continually  engaged ;  and,  when  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
to  his  own  immortal  honor,  marked  the  sense  which 
himself  and  his  countrymen  entertained  of  Montgom- 
ery's merit,  by  placing  him  on  the  Civil  List  for  a 
pension  of  150Z.  a  year,  he  only  added  to  his  power 
of  benefitting  his  fellow-creatures,  for  of  personal  in- 
dulgence in  expenditure  he  has  unquestionably  no 
idea." 

One  afternoon,  in  the  autumn  of  1836,  Montgom- 
ery is  sitting  with  a  friend,  poring  with  intense  emo- 
tion over  an  album  which  a  daughter  of  Wordsworth 


104  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS. 

lias  forwarded  to  Sheffield  for  a  contribution  from  his 
pen.  The  page  on  which  the  friends  are  gazing  so 
intently,  is  an  autograph-sonnet,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Tremulously  penned  in  the  minstrel's  last  days,  and 
with  some  of  the  lines  unfinished,  it  has  a  melancho- 
ly tone  about  it  which  painfully  affects  his  heart. 
4'  Here,"  is  his  remark  to  Mr.  Holland,  as  he  closes 
the  book,  "  we  have  almost  the  last  written  testimony 
of  one  of  the  most  active  and  vigorous  minds  of  the 
age,  made  in  the  very  prospect  of  death  ;  and  yet 
there  is  not  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  promises  of 
the  Gospel,  or  to  the  prospects  of  the  Christian  :  but, 
instead,  an  equivocal  allusion  to  '  enduring  the  stroke 
of  fate.' J'  It  is  Montgomery's  own  happier  lot,  to  be 
hastening  onward  to  life's  earthly  "  bourne"  under  a 
joyous  hope.  "  May  the  Lord  compensate  him,"  he 
writes- this  year  to  a  friend,  solacing  a  bereaved  disci- 
ple, "  in  that  way  which  to  infinite  wisdom  and  eter- 
nal goodness  shall  seem  best,  for  the  removal  to  His 
own  glorious  presence  of  her  whom,  for  a  brief  but 
lovely  season,  He  permitted  to  be  at  his  side  as  a 
life-companion,  at  a  time  when  her  life  was  so  far 
spent,  that  its  twilight  on  earth,  while  he  walked 
amidst  its  sweetness,  was  to  herself  the  dawning  of 
immortality — as  sunset  to  us  in  the  East,  is  sunrise 
to  them  in  the  West!  It  was  a  sudden  'translation' 
(because,  like  Enoch,  she  '  walked  with  God')  to  the 
kingdom  of  glory  and  of  bliss,  of  peace  and  assurance 
for  ever,  from  sin,  sorrow,  and  death." 


UHAPTEE    X. 


"  I  would  rejoice  for  all  that  thou  hast  given, 

In  Christ  to  me, 
For  grace,  and  peace,  and  gladdening  hope  of  heaven, 

Not  bought,  but  free." 


Voltaire's  death- bed— The  " Encyclopaedists1'— "  Wretched  glory!"— 
Scott's  death-bed — Sheffield  poet — Earthly  laurel — A  crown  of  glory 
— "  Natives" — '•  At  home" — A  bereavement — fc'  Passed  on" — Dickson 
of  Irvine — "  Strive  to  steal  away" — The  Cross — New  bereavement 
—"Not  here"—" Died  for  me"— Thankfulness. 

IT  is  recorded  of  Voltaire,  that  on  his  death-bed  he 
was  visited  by  D'Alembert  and  some  twenty  others 
of  the  French  "philosophers,"  but  that,  as  they 
crowded  one  after  another  into  the  apartment,  he 
cast  on  them  a  bitter  reproachful  look,  and  exclaimed 
— "  Retire  !  It  is  you  that  have  brought  me  to  my 
present  state  !  Begone !  I  could  have  done  without 
you  all,  but  you  could  not  exist  without  me  ;  and 
what  a  wretched  glory  have  you  procured  me !" 
And,  as  they  withdrew,  and  lingered  about  the  pas- 
sago,  they  could  hear  him  alternately  cursing  and 
supplicating  God,  and  then  in  a  plaintive  tone  crying 
out—"  Oh,  Christ !  Oh,  Jesus  Christ !"  It  is  said  of 
poor  Walter  Scott  that  his  death-bed  was  scarcely  less 
appalling.  Genius  unsanctified  was  his  ruiu,  and, 


106  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS: 

though  not  to  be  classed  with  the  Frenchman  as  an 
open  blasphemer,  he  is  reported  to  have  died  in  the 
most  heart-stricken  horror.  The  poet  of  fheffield  is 
not  ashamed  of  Christ  and  of  his  cross.  •  From  the 
time,"  was  the  remark  of  the  Rev.  J.  Angell  James 
at  a  missionary  meeting  held  that  year  at  Birming- 
ham, "that  the  distinguished  individual  who  has  ad- 
dressed us  baptized  his  muse  at  the  Christian  font, 
and  made  her  a  member,  not  of  any  section  of  the 
Christian  community,  but  of  the  whole  Catholic 
Church — he  has  never  written  a  line  over  which 
truth  or  holiness  might  blush,  or  which  charity  might 
not  love  to  own."  And  therefore,  when  death  ap- 
proaches, and  plucks  the  earthly  laurel  from  his 
brow,  the  Destroyer  of  death  is  there  with  a  better 
laurel — the  "  crown  of  glory,  which  fadeth  not 
away."  Like  "  the  man  in  the  picture,"  he  con- 
tinues meanwhile  to  live  as  an  earnest,  self-denying 
happy  pilgrim — that  crown  of  glory  hanging  over 
his  head.  "  There  is  another  country,"  he  writes  one 
day  this  autumn  to  a  friend  in  New  York,  with  whom 
he  has  enjoyed  some  pleasant  interviews  during  a 
recent  visit  to  this  country,  "  of  which  all,  of  every 
land  on  earth,  who  are  born  of  God,  become  by  that 
very  fact  natives — even  a  heavenly  country  :  there  ma  v 
we,  and  all  we  have  known  in  the  flesh,  as  of  one 
spirit  with  us  in  the  Lord,  find  ourselves  at  home, 
and  for  ever  with  Him,  at  the  end  of  our  pilgrim- 
age!" 

The  following  winter  a  bereavement  visits  him, 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  107 

which  lifts  his  heart  nearer  than  ever  to  his  heavenly 
home.  "  One  light,"  we  find  him  writing,  "  which 
has  long  cheered,  and,  I  may  say,  accompanied  m« 
through  one-third  of  my  way  of  life,  is  now  gone  out 
— no,  no,  not  out ;  it  has  passed  on  before  through 
the  shadow  of  death  into  the  splendor  of  eternity  : 
but  I  shall  miss  it ;  and,  oh  !  how  many  more  whom 
its  mild  beams  were  wont  to  bless  will  miss  it,  too  ! 
But  the  Lord  liveth — He  gave,  and  He  has  taken 
away — blessed  be  His  name !  To  none  but  him 
would  we  have  surrendered  it." 

Like  all  who  have  been  drawn  into  a  close  fellowship 
with  the  Lord,  Montgomery  is  learning  to  lean  with 
a  fresh  simplicity  of  faith  upon  the  arm  of  his  be- 
loved Lord.  Alluding  one  day  to  the  authorship  of 
the  hymn,  "Jerusalem,  my  happy  home"  he  de- 
scribes the  writer  as  "  a  man  of  God  indeed," — add- 
ing : — "  His  last  words,  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  con- 
cerning the  hope  that  was  in  him  in  the  hour  of 
death,  were  these — *  I  have  taken  all  my  good  deeds, 
and  all  my  bad  ones,  and  have  thrown  them  together 
in  one  heap,  and  have  fled  from  them  to  the  "  foot 
of  the  Cross  for  mercy."'  Oh,  my  dear  friend  what  a 
confession  of  faith  !  Let  us  go  and  do  likewise,  that 
at  our  departure  we  may  be  enabled,  through  Al 
mighty  grace,  to  leave  the  same  testimony  behind  us." 

And  he  does  go  and  do  likewise.  "  I  strive  to 
steal  away,"  says  he,  "  from  this  poor  world's  busi- 
ness, to  sit  with  Mary  at  the  Master's  feet — my  con- 
stant prayer  being  to  have  the  mind  and  the  power 


1 08  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

to  '  choose  the  better  part,'  and  to  attend  to  the  *  one 
thing  needful,'  without  entirely  neglecting  the  many 
things  which  are  necessary."  And,  on  another 
occasion  : — "  I  feel  my  place  of  safety  to  be  that  to 
which  I  do  know  I  am  permitted  to  come — the  foot 
of  the  Cross." 

Another  bereavement,  touching  him  to  the  quick, 
reveals,  indirectly,  yet  even  more  affectingly,  the 
same  simple  and  joyous  faith.  It  is  one  of  three  sis- 
ters, who  have  lived  under  the  same  roof  with  him 
"  more  than  forty  years."  He  writes : — 

"  She  went  as  calmly  as  at  eve 

A  cloud  in  sunset  melts  away, 
While  blending  lights  and  shadows  weave 
The  winding-sheet  of  dying  day. 

No ; — the  day  dies  not ;  round  the  globe 

It  holds  its  flight  o'er  land  or  main : 
Morn,  noon,  and  evening  are  its  robe, 

And  solemn  night  its  flowing  train. 

So  when  to  us  she  seemed  to  die, 

And  left  a  shadow  in  her  shroud, 
'Twas  but  the  glory  passing  by, 

And  darkness  gathering  round  a  cloud. 

"We  gazed  upon  the  earthly  prison 

From  which  the  enfranchised  soul  had  fled ; 
'  She  is  not  here,  for  she  is  risen ; — 
Seek  not  the  living  with  the  dead.' 

For,  by  no  sophistry  beguiled, 

She  loved  the  Gospel's  joyful  sound : 

Beceived  it  as  a  little  child, 

And  in  her  heart  its  sweetness  found." 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  109 

And  a  year  later,  alluding  to  a  venerable  disciple, 
who  had  unexpectedly  been  raised  up  from  what 
seemed  to  be  his  dying  bed,  he  writes : — "  The  turn- 
ing-point of  his  disease  seemed  to  occur  on  the 
Saturday  before  Easter.  He  said  then,  •  To-day  I 
am  seventy-seven  years  old,  and  yesterday  my  Sa- 
viour died  for  me.'  Oh,  my  dear  friend !  though 
you  do  not  call  a  certain  day  Good  Friday,  you 
love  to  remember,  on  that  day  and  every  other  day 
of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  that  wonderful 
event  (which  the  annals  of  the  whole  creation  cannot 
parallel)  which  so  many  Christians  commemorate  on 
that  day ;  and  I  know  that  the  most  cheering,  ani- 
mating, glorious,  heart-breaking,  heart-healing  re- 
flection which  can  come  upon  you  at  any  time,  in 
any  circumstances,  is  the  thought  of  our  suffering 
friend  Koberts,  when  you  can  say  with  him,  'My 
Saviour  died  for  me !'  He  did,  He  did ;  and  He 
died  for  me,  too ;  then  let  us  live  to  Him — live 
wholly  to  Him — that  when  we  die — as  soon  we 
must — we  may  die  unto  the  Lord,  and  that,  where 
He  is,  we  may  thenceforth  ever  be." 

And,  referring  to  the  death  of  the  "  Martyr  of  Er- 
romanga,"  he  adds :  "  Alas !  for  us — the  removal  of 
Mr.  Williams :  I  cannot  say,  Alas !  for  him.  But  his 
death,  like  Samson's  (in  the  reverse  of  the  nature  of 
its  issue),  must  surely  be  the  means  of  more  life, 
faith,  zeal,  and  labor,  in  the  missionary  cause,  than 
has  yet  been  shown." 

Link  after  link  is  being  severed  which  binds  him 
10 


110  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF   LETTERS! 

to  this  vale  of  tears.  In  the  spring  of  1841  he  loses 
a  beloved  brother — beloved  at  once  in  the  flesh  and 
in  the  Lord.  A  pastor  of  the  United  Brethren,  he 
"  found  grace,"  writes  the  poet,  "  to  prove  himself  a 
good  and  faithful  servant,  through  long  labors,  and 
longer  sufferings,  and  he  now  has  entered  the  joy  of 
his  Lord  at  the  age  of  sixty-five  years."  "  There  were 
yet  visible  in  his  countenance,"  he  adds,  after  taking 
a  last  look  at  the  corpse,  "  some  traces  of  that  placid 
resignation  which  had  always  marked  it  in  life — the 
lingering  twilight  which  followed  the  shining  of  that 
Sun  of  righteousness  amidst  which  the  spirit  had 
passed  into  a  better  world." 

It  was  a  longing  of  a  poet  in  another  age — 

"  Thou  that  hast  given  so  much  to  me, 
Give  one  thing  more — a  grateful  heart  1" 

And  again,  thus: 

"  Wherefore  I  cry,  and  cry  again ; 
And  in  no  quiet  canst  thou  be, 
Till  I  a  thankful  heart  obtain 
Ofthee: 

Not  thankful,  when  it  pleaseth  me  ; 
As  if  thy  blessings  had  spare  days : 
But  such  a  heart,  whose  pulse  may  be 
Thy  praise!" 

In  the  brother  he  has  lost,  nothing  affects  our  poet 
so  tenderly  as  his  "  childlike,  humble,  fervent  expres- 
sions of  thankfulness."  And  no  grace  does  the  sur- 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  Ill 

vivor  continue  himself  to  cultivate  so  anxiously. 
"  Among  the  i  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts,' " 
we  find  him  writing  to  a  friend,  "  which,  during  that 
long  period  of  changes  and  trials,  of  mercies  and 
chastenings,  you  have  received  of  God's  free  bounty, 
in  providence  and  in  grace,  I  am  sure  you  feel  that 
4  not  the  leas?  is  that  one  which  Addison  so  emphati- 
cally records  in  his  admirable  hymn, 

"  *  A  grateful  heart  to  taste  those  gifts  of  joy.' 

Ah !  indeed,  without  that,  all  the  temporal  and 
spiritual  benefits  with  which  the  good  Lord  daily 
loadeth  His  people  would  be  bestowed  by  Him  in 
vain,  or  would  be  remembered  only  in  judgment 
against  them.  In  that  tremendous  summing-up  of 
the  sins  of  the  heathen  world — in  which  the  world 
called  Christian  is  hardly  less  criminal — contained  in 
the  first  chapter  of  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Romans, 
there  is  a  very  remarkable  clause,  ver.  21 :  *  Because, 
when  they  knew  God,  they  glorified  Him  not  as  God, 
neither  were  thankful?  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 


""Pis  but  to  touch  a  harp  with  riven  strings, 

To  faltering  lays ; 

And  yet  to  Theer  my  God,  my  spirit  brings 
Its  song  of  praise. 

Teach  me  aright  to  bless  Thee  for  a  love 
Which  knows  no  change ; 

A  care  which,  every  hour,  1,  wondering,  prove 
So  great,  so  strange  1" 


Visit  to  Scotland— "Welcome — "  The  Christian  poet"—"  Name  of  Je- 
sus"— Visit  to  birth-place — The  cottage — Failing  strength — "Snowa 
of  age" — Sunset—  " A  solitary  unit" — "Lonelier  than  loneliness" — 
"Absent  from  the  body"— The  two  horizons— Paralysis— Eightieth 
birth-day— Past  and  future— Three  travellers  at  "  the  Mount"— Last 
evening—"  Shock  of  corn  fully  ripe"— Gathered  to  the  garner. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1841,  "for  the  first  time  after  a 
lapse  of  three-score  years,"  Montgomery  "  appears  on 
his  native  soil,"  at  a  missionary  meeting  in  Glasgow, 
and  is  hailed  with  a  singular  enthusiasm.  "Lofty 
powers  of  genius,"  says  the  now  deceased  Dr.  Ward- 
law,  in  introducing  him,  "  unconsecrated  to  the  praise 
of  that  God  by  whom  they  were  bestowed,  have  al- 
ways appeared  to  me  like  lamps  of  pure  oil  gleaming 
in  the  midst  of  sepulchral  darkness  and  corruption  ; 
but  we  rejoice  to  know  that  these  powers  have  been- 
devoted  by  our  friend  to  the  service  of  God  and  to 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  113 

the  promotion  of  all  that  is  connected  with  the  pres- 
ent and  everlasting  happiness  of  mankind.  We  re- 
joice, therefore,,  in  having  him  among  us ;  and  we  re- 
joice because  we  regard  him  as  a  Christian  poet,  and 
one  belonging  to  our  own  land.  When  first  I  had 
the  happiness  of  becoming  acquainted  with  him  per- 
9  sonally,  I  found  him,  I  may  be  allowed  to  say,  in  the 
most  unpoetical  place  it  was  possible  for  a  poet  to  oc- 
cupy— in  the  very  centre  of  the  dark,  dusky,  smoky 
town  of  Sheffield ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  had 
chosen  that  particular  place  to  illustrate  the  words, 
4  E  fumo  dare  lucem  /'  He  has  now  changed  his 
residence — he  is  now  on 4  The  Mount,'  the  very  place 
where  a  poet  ought  to  be. 

"But  he  is  now  among  us,"  the  speaker  adds, 
"  in  another  capacity.  He  is  the  son  of  missionary 
parents^  and  that  is  no  small  honor — of  missionary 
parents,  too,  who,  after  having  submitted  so  terrible 
calamities,  sleep,  as  the  poet  has  told  us,  where  the 
sun 

"  *  Shines  without  a  shadow  on  their  graves/ 

I  cannot  help  being  struck  with  that  line,  not  only 
from  the  fact  which  it  states,  that  his  parents  sleep 
under  a  vertical  sun,  but  because  associated  with 
that  fact  is  the  pleasing  thought  that  all  is  light  over 
that  hallowed  spot,  far  away, 

" '  Where  rest  the  ashes  of  the  sainted  dead.'  " 

Montgomery  is  deeply  affected  by  the  cordiality 
of  his  welcome  to  Scotland.     "  I  feel  it,"  says  he, 
10* 


114  THE    CHRISTIAN   MAN    OF    LETTERS'. 

"to  be  a  high  and  humbling  privilege  to  be  per- 
mitted to  meet  you,  and  to  make  my  public  appear- 
ance as  your  countryman,  in  a  place  where,  in  one  of 
the  first  sentences  of  our  opening  prayer,  the  name 
of  Jesus  was  mentioned.  That  is  the  name  in  which 
we  meet ;  that  is  the  name  which  is  peculiarly 
preached  as  '  Jesus  Christ,  and  Him  crucified' — as 
the  only  hope,  the  only  ground  of  the  hope,  of  salva- 
tion for  perishing  sinners." 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  he  visits  Irvine,  where 
the  corporation  awaits  his  arrival  and  makes  him  a 
burgess  of  the  ancient  and  royal  burgh.  "  I  cannot 
say  more,"  he  himself  writes,  describing  the  scene, 
"  than  that  the  heart  of  all  Irvine  seemed  to  be 
moved  on  the  occasion  ;  and  every  soul  in  it,  old  and 
young,  rich  and  poor,  to  '  hail'  me  to  my  birth-place. 
My  heart  was  moved  almost  beyond  feeling  by  the 
overpowering  kindness  which  oppressed  it,  and  by 
the  overflowing  gratitude  which  could  scarcely  find 
vent  in  words  or  in  tears."  One  incident  affects  him 
more  than  all  the  rest — his  visit  to  the  humble  cot- 
tage where  first  he  drew  breath,  his  father's  chapel, 
now  converted  into  a  workshop,  and  strangers  sitting 
beside  the  hearth  which  once  was  his  mother's  ;  but 
the  birth-place  is  not  forgotten  there — fixed  in  the 
wall  is  a  small  tablet,  intimating  that  in  that  lowly 
cottage  was  born  "  James  Montgomery,  the  poet." 

Not  long  after  this  Northern  tour,  a  feebleness 
of  health  returns,  and  with  it,  at  intervals,  such  an 
arrestment  on  his  whole  mental  energies  as  makes 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  115 

him  feel  "  as  if  in  the  course  of  an  irrevocable  de- 
cline." It  is  in  allusion  to  this,  that  at  a  meeting  in 
Sheffield  at  the  close  of  1842,  he  quotes  from  his 
"  Pelican  Island"  the  affecting  couplet — 

"  No  snow  falls  lighter  than  the  snow  of  age ; 
And  none  lies  heavier,  for  it  never  melts." 

And  some  time  later,  using  another  figure,  and  refer- 
ring to  another  symptom,  he  writes  : — "  The  feeble 
and  diseased  state  of  my  hands  seems  to  paralyse  all 
my  faculties  ;  and  the  difficulty  and  pain  of  writing 
makes  the  process  so  languid,  that  such  thoughts  and 
feelings  as  I  have,  in  the  effort  of  composition,  effer- 
vesce and  exhale  before  I  embody  them  in  fit  words. 
There  is  as  much  music  in  the  fiddle  as  ever ;  but  the 
hand  has  lost  power  over  the  bow,  and  cannot  call 
the  spirit  out." 

The  poet's  remaining  years  are  like  the  calm  set- 
ting of  a  summer's  sun, 

"  Sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity." 

Another  of  "  four  friends,"  whom  once  he  apostro- 
phised so  touchingly  in  one  of  his  sweetest  sonnets, 
is  removed ;  and  Montgomery  is  "  left  a  solitary 
unit."  "  Four  and  twenty  years  ago,"  he  writes, 
alluding  to  the  new  bereavement,  "  towards  the 
close  of  the  '  Pelican  Island,'  I  said — 

"  *  The  world  grows  darker,  lonelier,  and  more  silent, 
As  I  go  down  into  the  vale  of  years.' 


116  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  : 

You  will  understand  this  better  four  and  twenty 
years  hence,  and  also  find  out  that  there  is  some 
thing  to  a  living  man  darker  than  darkness,  *more 
lonely  than  loneliness,  more  silent  than  silence. 
What  is  that?  The  space  in  our  eye,  our  ear,  and 
our  mind,  which  the  presence  of  a  friend  once  filled, 
and  which  imagination  itself  cannot  now  fill.  Infi- 
nite space,  invisible,  inaudible,  dimensionless,  is  not 
more  inapprehensible  than  that  remembered  range 
in  which  to  us  he  lived,  moved,  and  had  a  being. 
'  Absent  from  the  body'  is  a  far  different  separation 
from  that  which  the  earth's  diameter  interposes  be- 
tween two  breathing,  conscious  beings,  each  present 
with  himself  and  contemporary  with  the  other,  but 
as  utterly  beyond  personal  communication  as  the 
living  with  the  dead,  or  as  the  dwellers  in  the  dust, 
each  resting  in  his  bed,  side  by  side." 

And  as  his  earthly  horizon  is  thus  yearly  con- 
tracting, and  the  horizon  of  his  eternity  is  expand- 
ing its  brightening  circle,  a  "  tremblingly-alive  agi- 
tation," incident  now  to  all  public  appearances,  with- 
draws him  into  the  comparative  privacy  befitting  his 
advanced  years.  Young,  in  his  "  Night  Thoughts," 
describes  the  soul  at  such  a  time,  as 

"  Walking  thoughtful  on  the  silent,  solemn  shore 
Of  that  vast  ocean  she  must  sail  so  soon." 

In  1849,  Montgomery  has  a  slight  threatening  of 
paralysis,  which  leaves  upon  his  mien  a  yet  graver 
and  more  heavenly  solemnity.  He  recovers ;  but 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  117 

"  how  faded !  how  infirm !"  is  the  involuntary  ob- 
servation of  his  townsmen  as  he  once  more  appears 
out  of  doors.  And,  a  year  or  two  later,  he  writes : — 
"  An  eightieth  birth-day  can  occur  once  only,  once 
in  a  life,  though  this  were  prolonged  to  the  age  of 
Methuselah  ;  and,  having  now  reached  the  last  mile- 
stone distinctly  marked  on  the  pilgrimage  (Ps.  xc.  10) 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  beyond  which  there  is 
no  track  except  over  stumbling-stones  and  among 
pitfalls,  to  the  end  of  all  things  on  earth,  I  am  neces- 
sarily looking  onward  and  backward,  around  and 
within  me,  to  ascertain  where  I  am,  what  I  am,  and 
whither  I  am  going.  Of  the  past,  I  may  say,  '  Good- 
ness and  mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my 
life  ;•  and  of  the  future,  my  heart's  desire  and  prayer 
is,  that  I  may,  in  my  last  hour,  have  the  blessed  hope 
in  me  to  realise  the  fulfilment  of  the  remaining  clause 
of  the  text  (Ps.  xxxiii.  6),  '  I  will  dwell  in  the  house 
of  the  Lord  for  ever.'  " 

One  afternoon,  in  the  summer  of  1853,  three  travel- 
lers from  America  call  at  "  The  Mount."  "  Scarcely 
had  I  entered,"  writes  one  of  them,  "  when  the  venera- 
ble bard  stepped  from  his  library  into  the  hall,  and  re- 
ceived us  with  a  greeting  which  went  to  my  heart." 
u  You  were  known  in  our  country,"  remarks  one  of 
the  strangers,  after  they  are  seated  in  the  parlor, 
"  and  loved  before  we  were  born."  "  Few  men,"  says 
another  of  them,  "  have  lived,  as  you  have,  to  hear 
the  verdict  of  posterity."  "  Yes,"  replies  the  poet, 
"  I  have  survived  nearly  all  my  contemporaries." 


118  THE    CHRISTIAN    MAN    OF    LETTERS  I 

And  "  this  led,"  says  the  visitor,  "  to  a  religious  con- 
versation, in  which  he  spoke  of  that  peaceful  but 
trembling  hope  he  had,  that  he  should  soon  enter 
upon  the  promised  rest ;  his  lips  quivered,  his  voice 
broke,  and  big  tears  dropped  from  his  eyes,  as  he 
spoke  of  his  unworthiness  to  be  accepted,  but  of  his 
trust  in  the  Saviour,  whose  grace  is  sufficient  for  the 
chief  of  sinners.  We  rose  to  take  leave,  and,  as  we 
shook  hands  in  silence,  Edwards  repeated  one  of  the 
poet's  own  stanzas  from  '  The  Grave7 — 

"  '  There  is  a  calm  for  those  that  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found.' 

And  he  had  strength  to  say,  '  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
in  heaven  ;'  and,  following  us  to  the  door,  bade  us  an 
affectionate  farewell." 

The  weary,  but  not  unjoyous,  pilgrim  is  now  to 
"find"  his  "rest." 

A  fortnight  previous,  he  is  proposing  to  revisit 
once  more  the  loved  scene  of  his  boyhood  at  Fulnec. 
"  I  should  have  indeed  been  happy,"  he  writes  to  his 
niece,  explaining  an  unexpected  hindrance,  "  to  make 
an  Easter  campaign,  and  especially  to  spend  another 
Maundy-Thursday,  which  then  was  (I  may  frankly 
own  it)  to  me  the  happiest  day  in  the  year ;  the  even- 
ing reading  in  the  chapel,  of  our  Saviour's  agony  and 
bloody  sweat  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  was  al- 
most always  a  season  of  holy  humbling,  and  affecting 
sympathy  of  my  soul  with  his,  who  then  was  wont  to 
make  His  presence  felt." 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY.  119 

Into  that  presence  he  is  now  speedily  welcomed,  to 
walk  no  longer  by  faith,  but  by  sight.  One  evening 
— it  is  Saturday,  April  29,  1854 — he  hands  to  Miss 
Gales  the  Family  Bible,  saying,  "  Sarah,  you  must 
read  !"  And,  after  himself  leading  the  family  devo- 
tions with  an  unusual  tremulousness  of  voice,  but 
with  a  heavenly  pathos,  he  retires  to  rest  at  his  usual 
hour.  In  the  morning  he  is  worse ;  but  in  a  few 
hours  he  revives,  so  that  it  seems  as  if  he  once 
more  may  rally.  At  half-past  three,  however,  as  he 
lies  quietly  asleep,  his  attendant  observes  in  his 
countenance  a  sudden  and  startling  change.  The 
clay  is  there ;  but  the  man  himself  is  away.  Like 
"  a  shock  of  corn  fully  ripe,"  he  is  already  gathered 
into  the  heavenly  garner. 

"  0  death!  what  art  thou?  strange  and  solemn  Alchymist, 
Elaborating  life's  elixirs  from  these  clayey  crucibles ! 
0  death !  what  art  thou  ?  antitype  of  Nature's  marvels, 
The  seed  and  dormant  chrysalis  bursting  into  energy  and 

glory! 

Pass  along,  pilgrim  of  life  I  go  to  thy  grave  unfearing ; 
The  terrors  are  but  shadows  now,  that  haunt  the  vale  of 

Death." 


IV. 

€  If  £  HI  a  n  of  8  n  s  i  n  t«  s : 

FREDERICK  PERTHES. 


"  Placed  for  his  trial  on  this  bustling  stage, 
From  thoughtless  youth  to  ruminating  age." 

>l  Some  men  make  gain  a  fountain,  whence  proceeds 
A  stream  of  liberal  and  heroic  deeds." 


Lite  Studies. 


HAMBURGH. 


CHAPTEK    I. 


u Custom  is  most  perfect,  when  it  beginneth  in  young  years:  this 
we  call  education,  which  is,  in  effect,  but  an  early  custom." — LORD 
BACON. 


Hamburgh — "The  king  of  booksellers1' — His  cradle — An  orphan — Boy- 
ish tastes— School— Leipzig— "  Too  shy"— The  apprentice— New 
home— Discipline— Frost-bitten— The  attic-chamber— Frederika— 
— Apprenticeship  to  life. 


IN  the  busy  town  of  Hamburgh,  some  sixty  years 
since,  there  might  be  seen,  in  a  book-shop  in  one 
of  the  busiest  of  its  streets,  a  slender,  but  firmly-knit 
German,  whose  genial  heart  draws  around  him  the 
sympathies,  as  his  energetic  decision  iir  business  se- 
cures the  respect,  of  the  most  worthy  of  its  citizens. 
"  Little  Perthes,"  they  will  say,  "  has  the  most  manly 
spirit  of  us  all."  "  He  is  the  king  of  booksellers,"  re- 
marks one  day  the  historian  Niebuhr.  And  another 
writes :  "  Perthes  is  a  man  to  whom  I  feel  marvel- 
lously attracted :  I  could  not  withdraw  my  eyes  from 
him — the  charm  of  his  outward  appearance  I  could 
not  but  regard  as  the  true  expression  of  his  inner  na- 
ture." 

This  soul — so  firm,  yet  so  delicately  strung — has 
been  reared  amidst  rude  storms. 
1* 


THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS! 

Born  at  Eudolfstadt,  April  21,  1772,  FREDERICK 
PERTHES  finds  himself,  at  the  early  age  of  seven,  a 
solitary  orphan.  A  maternal  uncle — kind,  but  poor 
— welcomes  the  boy  to  his  humble  home.  Till  the 
age  of  fourteen,  his  chief  mental  food  is  such  books 
as  u  Don  Quixote,"  and  some  quarto  volumes  of 
Travels,  which  captivate  his  boyish  fancy,  but  nearly 
unnerve  his  native  energy  of  intellect.  Two  years 
spent  at  the  close  of  that  period  at  school  leave  him 
in  possession  of  little  more  than  the  store  of  miscella- 
neous ideas  and  fancies  gathered  at  his  own  hand  in 
his  passionate  zest  for  reading. 

In  his  fourteenth  year,  resolved  that,  come  what 
may,  he  and  his  beloved  books  must  be  companions 
through  life,  he  sets  out  for  Leipzig  book-fair  in 
search  of  a  master.  The  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  the 
bookseller,  to  whom  the  printer  of  his  native  town, 
who  has  him  in  charge,  conducts  him,  so  alarms  the 
boy,  that,  not  being  able  to  utter  a  word,  he  is  pro- 
nounced to  be  "  too  shy  for  the  book-trade."  After 
some  tossings  to  and  fro,  he  is  at  last  engaged  by 
another ;  but  "  he  must  go  home  for  a  year — he  is 
too  delicate  yet  for  work." 

On  September,  11,  1787,  he  arrives  again  in  Leip- 
zig— to  begin  life's  earnest  struggle.  The  youthful 
apprentice  though  welcomed  kindly  enough  in  his 
new  home — especially  by  Frederika,  one  of  his  mas- 
ter's daughters,  a  girl  of  twelve,  who  has  the  art  of 
"  driving  away  his  fancies  and  whims" — finds  the 
discipline  and  labor  not  a  little  trying.  Beginning 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  7 

work  in  the  morning  at  seven,  he  is  on  his  feet  till 
eight  at  night,  with  an  interval  of  half  an  hour  at 
mid-day  for  dinner ;  and,  during  his  first  winter,  he 
has  to  stand  so  long  on  the  cold  stone-flags,  collect- 
ing orders,  that  his  feet  are  frost-bitten  ;  and  for  nine 
weeks  he  lies  in  his  bed  in  his  little  attic-chamber. 
This  is  stern  training ;  but,  like  the  stormy  blast 
which  fixes  the  rising  oak  more  firmly  in  the  soil,  it 
inures  his  spirit  for  the  sharper  struggles  which  are 
yet  before  him. 

The  years  of  apprenticeship,  however,  are  not  an 
unmixed  misery.  His  vivacious  and  kindly  temper- 
ament turns  them  into  "  happy  years  of  earnest  striv- 
ing." They  expire  in  1793  ;  and  he  betakes  himself 
to  a  wider  and  more  congenial  sphere  in  Hamburgh 
— his  apprenticeship  to  the  book-trade  finished,  but 
not  his  apprenticeship  to  life. 


CHAPTER    II. 


*«  Can  a  life  thus  spent 
Lead  to  the  bliss  she  promises  the  wise, 
Detach  the  soul  from  earth,  and  speed  her  to  the  skies  ?M 


Inner  life — Moral  martyrdom — "  A  philosopher'1 — Human  perfectil  il- 
ity— "My  dignity"1— The  dark  shadow— The  struggle— Longings— 
"A  friend" — The  seven  Swabians — Goethe— Schiller — "Enthusiasm 
in  me" — Sunday-trips — "  A  necessity" — Three  friends — "  Ve^ge  of 
destruction." 

IN  these  early  years,  Perthes  knows  but  little  of 
the  struggles  of  the  inner  life.  Shrinking  sensitively 
from  all  impurity  and  coarseness,  he  has  found  him- 
self, among  his  fellow-apprentices  of  Leipzig,  a  sort 
of  martyr ;  for  "  men  here,"  he  wrote,  "  must  live 
like  others,  or  make  up  their  minds  to  be  persecu- 
ted." But  his  spiritual  cravings  have  not  yet  in- 
tenseness  enough  to  rise  above  the  earth.  The  order 
of  the  day  in  Germany  for  all  young  men  is  "  philo- 
sophy." Perthes  must  be  in  his  turn  a  "  philoso- 
pher ;"  and  deeply  does  he  study  the  favorite  books 
of  the  day,  till  at  last,  in  his  nineteenth  year,  after 
poring  for  months  during  his  hours  of  leisure  over 
a  translation  of  Cicero  "  De  Officiis,"  he  believes  he 
has  found  true  satisfaction." 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  9 

His  ideas,  it  may  be  supposed,  as  to  his  real  rela- 
tion to  God,  are  of  a  kind  the  most  crude  and  ro- 
mantic. Kegarding  life  as  "  a  vast  institution  of  the 
Creator  for  leading  individuals,  and  the  whole  human 
race,  to  an  ever-increasing  perfection" — he  does  not 
believe  in  evil,  since  every  occurrence  is  only  fitted 
to  improve  us.  And  he  writes : — "  I  frequently  be- 
lieve that  I  can  say  with  deep  conviction,  and  with 
honesty,  that,  in  the  struggle  after  perfection,  I  have 
made  some  progress.  Often  have  I  had  bright  hours, 
when,  conscious  of  my  dignity  as  a  human  being,  and 
meditating  on  the  perfection  of  God  and  of  His  works, 
I  enjoyed  a  foretaste  of  my  destiny."  But,  not  sel- 
dom, a  dark  shadow  disturbs  this  pleasant  dream. 
"  My  principles,"  he  writes  to  his  uncle,  "  are  so  in- 
terwoven with  my  whole  being,  that  I  have  no  power 
to  think  of  myself  as  without  them ;  but,  as  to  al- 
lowing them  to  actuate  my  life,  that  is  quite  another 
matter.  I  should  be  a  hypocrite,  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  that  they  had  been  the  never-failing  guide  of  my 
conduct.  Now  passion  triumphs  ;  now  habit ;  again 
a  constitutional  levity,  which  is  quite  at  variance  with 
the  results  of  my  reflection ;  and  then  I  find  that 
perfection  cannot  be  reached  by  a  bound,  but  must 
be  slowly  and  painfully  worked  out." 

Mounting  the  hill  Difficulty  without  having  first 
got  rid  of  his  burden,  no  wonder  he  finds  the  task 
a  painful  one.  "  I  must,  indeed,  struggle  hard,"  he 
writes,  "  if  I  am  to  expel  from  my  heart  all  that  dis- 
turbs my  peace ;  for,  alas  !  when  I  feel  tranquil, 


10  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

it  is  but  the  sleep  of  evil  inclinations,  which  are 
gathering  strength  for  a  more  violent  outburst 
Ah !  my  want  of  firmness,  and  my  hot  blood,  often 
destroy  in  one  hour  what  it  has  been  the  labor  of 
weeks  to  build  up;  and  then  I  am  the  victim  of  a 
remorse,  which  is  not  soon  succeeded  by  the  unre- 
proaching  self-possession  of  a  heart  at  peace  with 
itself."  And  he  adds : — "  How  often  have  I,  with 
tears,  deplored  my  perverseness,  when,  after  some 
steadfast  resolution  to  cling  to  the  good,  I  have  fallen, 
because  too  weak  to  overcome  some  passion !" 

But  this  disquiet  is  not  a  heart-piercing  thing. 
"  You  see,  dear  uncle,"  he  will  write,  as  if  sporting 
with  these  convictions,  "  that  I  have  made  a  good 
beginning ;  for  the  being  dissatisfied  with  myself  is 
a  sure  proof  of  this."  And  the  methods  he  takes 
of  calming  his  disquietude  indicate  the  same  fact. 
There  is  a  void,  and  it  caused  him  discomfort ;  but 
he  is  content  to  fill  it  with  the  creature.  "  The  most 
earnest  wish  of  my  heart,"  we  find  him  writing,  "  is 
to  have  a  friend  to  whom  I  might  freely  unbosom 
myself,  who  would  strengthen  me  when  I  am  weak, 
and  encourage  me  when  I  begin  to  despair :  but, 
alas !  I  find  no  such  friend,  and  yet  I  feel  an  irresist- 
ible necessity  to  unburden  my  heart ;  and  so  over- 
powering is  this  longing,  that  I  could  press  every 
man  to  my  breast,  and  say,  *  Thou,  too,  art  God's 
image.' "  There  is  a  heart  into  which  all  his  long- 
ings, and  aspirations,  and  sorrows  may  be  poured — 
the  heart  of  HIM  who,  when  here  on  earth,  never  cut 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  11 

short  one  tale  of  woe,  or  blighted  with  a  cold  frown 
one  rising  hope  ;  but  that  heart  Perthes  does  not  yet 
know,  nor  is  he  earnest  enough  as  yet  to  seek  it. 

To  various  lower  fellowships  his  frank  open  nature 
successively  clings.  One  is  the  sprightly,  joyous  girl, 
who  so  often  has  cheered  him  in  his  lonely  hours. 
"  She  is  still  most  kind  to  me,"  he  writes ;  "  she 
knows  how,  by  a  few  words,  to  comfort  ine  when  I 
am  troubled  and  depressed."  Another  is,  the  inti- 
macy formed  at  this  period  with  seven  young  Swa- 
bians — young  men  of  great  mental  activity  and  high 
moral  character,  in  whose  society  he  now  spends  all 
his  leisure  hours,  giving  him  his  first  enjoyment  of 
youth's  springy  activities.  "  Never,"  says  he,  "  have 
I  had  such  pleasant,  heart-quickening  hours,  as  now 
in  the  society  of  my  beloved  new  friends.  The  mo- 
ment I  enter,  I  read  my  welcome  in  their  eyes." 
And  another  attraction  which  these  Swabians  have 
for  him,  is  the  introduction  they  give  him  to  the 
friendship  of  such  men  as  Goethe,  Herder,  and 
Schiller. 

To  Frederick's  intellect  these  latter  fellowships  are 
like  the  morning  sun  rising  on  the  closed  petals  of 
the  flowers.  "  When  I  saw  other  young  men  of  my 
own  age,"  he  writes,  "  setting  about  everything  with 
a  sort  of  sprightliness  which  I  never  could  command 
— I  was  grieved  at  heart,  because  I  was  convinced 
that  nothing  great  or  noble  could  be  accomplished 
without  ardor  or  vivacity.  But  now  I  feel  that  there 
is  enthusiasm  in  me."  And,  as  he  is  leaving  Leip- 


12  THE  MAN  OP  BUSINESS: 

zig,  he  adds  : — "  I  am  astonished  at  the  transforma- 
tion I  have  undergone.  I  have  had  seasons  of  trial, 
but  they  have  brought  forth  much  good.  My  mind 
has  here  begun  to  develope  itself,  and  to  apprehend 
the  greatness  of  humanity." 

But  there  is  nothing  in  all  this  to  subdue  the 
guilty  sinner.  "  How  highly,"  we  find  him  writing, 
with  a  kind  of  pagan  searedness  of  conscience,  "  is 
man  still  favored  by  the  gods  !  how  love  exudes 
from  me  at  every  pore !"  And  again  : — "  I  have 
just  returned  from  a  solitary  walk,  which  has  done 
me  much  good  ;  I  was  penetrated  by  the  glory  of 
Nature ;  certainly  I  never  was  better  in  soul  than 
now.  Dearest  brother,  be  it  what  it  may  that  now 
inspires  me — God,  Nature,  Heart — do  not  grudge  it 
me,  but  rather  rejoice  with  me." 

And  the  joys  he  seeks  are  of  the  earthly  kind,  in 
which  only  such  a  heart  can  rest.  Working  at  his 
business  the  half  of  each  alternate  Sunday,  the  re- 
mainder is  devoted  to  the  most  trivial  and  unholy 
engagements.  "  Thirty  of  us,"  he  writes,  describing 
one  of  his  Sunday  pleasure-trips,  "  ladies  and  gentle- 
men— some  old,  some  young — floated  yesterday  down 
the  Elbe,  to  the  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  trumpets, 
and  enjoyed  ourselves  to  the  full."  And,  on  holi- 
days, the  theatre,  concerts,  and  masquerades,  present 
to  him  the  most  pleasurable  attractions. 

A  gracious  Lord,  however,  does  not  suffer  him  to 
go  wholly  to  sleep.  "  I  have  tasted,"  he  writes,  two 
years  after  he  had  settled  in  Hamburgh,  "  the  in 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  13 

toxicating  pleasures  of  a  world,  in  which  all  is  colli- 
sion and  opposition :  I  have  had  my  experiences  ; 
but  I  am  not  the  better  for  them,  and  not  to  become 
better  is  to  become  worse." 

Once  and  again,  he  repeats  the  endeavor  to  find  a 
resting-place  in  intellectual  joys.  "  My  heart,"  he 
says,  "  yearns  for  the  society  of  cultivated  men.  Such 
society  is  a  necessity  for  me  ;  and  I  must  compass  it, 
unless  I  am  to  sink  entirely."  And  Hamburgh  af- 
fords not  a  little  of  such  society ;  his  rising  energy 
in  the  publishing  trade  gradually  opening  it  up  to 
him.  "  I  am  now,"  he  writes,  for  example,  "  enjoy- 
ing to  the  uttermost  all  that  a  quick  and  ardent  sen- 
sibility can  enjoy.  I  have  found  three  friends,  full 
of  talent  and  heart,  of  pure  and  upright  minds,  and 
distinguished  by  great  and  varied  culture.  When 
they  saw  my  striving  after  the  good,  and  my  love  for 
the  beautiful — when  they  perceived  how  I  sought 
and  endeavored — they  gave  me  their  friendship ;  and 
oh,  how  happy  I  now  am  !  I  am  like  a  fish  thrown 
from  the  dry  land  into  the  water."  And,  at  these 
moments,  he  will  write  in  self- complacency,  thus  : — 
"  It  does  one  so  much  good  when  one  can  come  be- 
fore God  and  say,  '  Thou,  O  God,  knowest  that  I  am 
good.' " 

But,  at  other  moments,  the  illusion  vanishes.  "  I 
am  still  too  often,"  he  will  write,  "  the  slave  of  passion 
and  of  habit.  And  again  :  "  Every  frail  old  man, 
whose  appearance  indicates  inward  tranquillity,  is  an 
object  of  envy  to  me ;  a  thousand  times  a  day  I  wish 
2 


14  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS. 

myself  in  his  place,  though  involving  the  extinction 
of  all  the  pleasures  of  youth.  I  would  fain  possess 
that  cold-blooded  calm — that  dullness  of  nerve,  if  I 
could  thereby  be  set  free  from  this  struggle  betwixt 
passion  and  duty,  which  drives  me  to  the  verge  of 
destruction." 


CHAPTEK  III. 

"  Let  thy  tossed  mind  anchor  upon  HIM." 


The  dawn— Sin  and  conscience— The  mirage— "  Trainer-in-chief"— 
Play  of  nerves — The  virtuous  ideal — "  Internal  anxiety" — "  A  pool 
sinner"— The  Sin-Forgiver— The  God-man—"  Centre  of  my  being" 
—German  subtleties— God  reduced  to  man's  level,  not  God  become 
man— Goethean  paganism— The  victory—"  Eeligious  certainty." 

A  NEW  light  now  begins  to  dawn.  "  It  was  through 
the  consciousness  of  SIN,  in  the  forms  of  sensuality 
and  pride,"  he  wrote,  many  years  afterwards,  referring 
to  this  turning-point  of  his  inner  life,  "  that  I  came  to 
recognize  my  need  of  redemption,  and  the  truth  of 
God's  revelation  in  Christ.  Whoever  disdains  this 
way,"  he  added,  "  will,  if  he  be  intellectual,  wander 
through  speculation  and  mystic  symbolism  to  panthe- 
ism ;  or,  if  he  be  superficial,  will  take  the  convenient 
way  of  progress  to  perfection,  Jesus  of  Nazareth  be- 
ing the  trainer-in-chief." 

One  day,  a  friend  who  has  already  been  taught  the 
more  excellent  way,  whispers  to  him — "Perthes! 
your  present  love  of  good  is  a  mere  play  of  nerves, 
which  assumes  the  appearance  of  a  nobler  passion, 
but  is  merely  the  result  of  a  sensitive  and  susceptible 
temperament."  "  Ah  !  you  are  right,"  replies  Fred- 
erick; "you  have  exactly  hit  my  case:  for,  even 


16  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

when  all  else  is  lulled  to  sleep,  the  spirit  of  evil,  I 
find,  is  ever  wakeful." 

The  root  of  the  evil  is  daily  growing  more  appa- 
rent. "  It  is  so  difficult,"  he  writes,  "  to  continue 
good,  and  so  much  more  difficult  to  become  better, 
that  it  has  often  occurred  to  me  to  doubt  whether  we 
were  born  good."  And  to  another  :  "  So  long  as  I 
believed  that  our  improvement  was  dependent  merely 
on  the  rectification  of  our  understanding,  and  that 
men  must  necessarily  become  better  and  happier  as 
they  became  more  enlightened,  the  future  perfection 
of  our  race  upon  earth  appeared  probable  to  me ;  but 
now  that  daily  experience  shows  me  the  fallibility  of 
the  wisest  of  men — shows  rue  men  whose  theories  of 
life  are  unimpeachable,  given  up  to  the  practice  of 
vice — I  have  lost  all  faith  in  the  realization  of  this 
virtuous  ideal.  If  our  evil  deeds  flowed  from  wrong 
principles,  our  errors  might  then  be  traced  back  to 
misconceptions,  and  we  might  improve  as  these  were 
rectified.  But  can  a  more  enlightened  understanding 
strengthen  the  feeble  will,  restore  the  unsound  heart, 
or  change  the  unnatural  and  artificial  into  nature  and 
simplicity  ?  Nay,  assuredly ;  goodness  is  no  neces- 
sary result  of  enlightenment  of  mind — this  may,  in- 
deed, eradicate  follies,  but  not  a  single  vice." 

Another  friend,  whom  he  meets  at  this  period, 
speaks  to  him  of  "  sin  as  itself  the  cause  of  our  de- 
parture from  God."  Sin,  therefore,  must  be  pardoned 
before  there  can  be  any  confiding  fellowship  with 
Him.  "  Salvation,"  says  his  friend  to  him,  "  is  to  be 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  17 

found,  not  in  feelings  listening  to  the  voice  of  God 
within,  but  in  the  historical  fact  of  the  Redemption, 
and  in  its  converting  power  on  the  heart  of  man." 

But  still  he  "  timidly  draws  back"  from  the  Cross. 
Indeed  the  Cross,  even  as  a  doctrine,  is  as  yet  but 
dimly  comprehended.  "My  internal  anxiety,'1  he 
writes,  "  calls  for  some  one  who  in  my  stead  may 
give  satisfaction ;  and  undefined  feelings  come  across 
me,  which  seek  after  a  God  who,  as  man,  has  felt  the 
agonies  of  man.  I  have  leaned,"  he  adds,  "  on  many 
a  staff  which  has  given  way,  and  have  seen  many  a 
star  fall  from  heaven." 

A  better  "  staff"  now  is  in  store  for  him.  "  I  am 
a  poor  sinner"  we  find  him  writing  one  day,  " in 
myself  helpless  and  comfortless."  And,  on  another 
occasion  :  "  Again  and  again,  the  all-important  ques- 
tion recurs — Can  God  forgive  sin  ?  and  will  He  ?  He 
who  does  not  understand  the  full  force  of  this  ques- 
tion does  not  know  himself."'  Perthes  sees  his  sin, 
and  he  begins  to  see  the  Sin-For giver. 

Still  there  is  not  peace.  "  The  time/'  says  he  to  a 
friend  one  day,  u  when  these  facts  are  to  become  vital 
to  me,  and  the  measure  of  their  vitality,  depends  on 
the  grace  of  God."  But  his  soul  is  now  too  earnest 
to  suffer  this  conviction  to  lull  him  into  a  stupid  re- 
pose. "I  want,"  he  says,  on  another  occasion,  giving 
utterance  to  his  heart's  intense  longing,  "  I  want  to 
grasp  the  uncreated  Son  of  the  Father  as  in  reality 
my  God.  I  want  this  God-man  to  become  the  very 
centre  of  my  being." 

2* 


18  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  : 

In  Germany  at  that  time,  as  in  England  at  this 
day,  Christianity  is  paraded  by  certain  thinkers  in  a 
certain  subtle  philosophic  guise,  which,  to  a  mind 
like  Perthes',  has  not  a  little  attraction.  Talking 
glibly  of  the  "  mysteries  of  godliness,"  they  affect 
familiarity  with  a  literally  personal  God,  and  compla- 
cently boast  of  their  growing  assimilation  to  His 
earthly  life  of  self-sacrifice.  But  the  Christ  they 
worship  is  not  God  become  man,  but  God  reduced 
to  man's  level ;  and  the  God  they  worship  is,  not 
the  just  and  holy  Lawgiver,  magnifying  his  law  in 
the  Cross,  but  an  indulgent  and  feeble  father,  who, 
forgetting  the  claims  of  law,  has  retired  from  the 
seat  of  justice,  and  has  begun  to  "  clear  the  guilty." 
Perthes,  however,  must  have  sin — HIS  sin — -forgiven'; 
else  no  peace,  no  rest.  "  For  my  part,"  he  says,  "  I  en- 
tertain a  sort  of  horror  for  the  mode  in  which  the  great 
mystery  of  godliness  is  treated  in  these  circles ;  they 
insist  on  being  so  very  comfortable,  so  much  at  home 
with  their  religion." 

And  of  one  of  them,  Jean  Paul,  he  writes : — "  He 
longs  indeed  for  truth,  and  for  a  settled  faith ;  and 
yet  he  cannot  abstain  from  representing  the  God- 
man  as  a  mere  creature  of  human  imagination." 
And,  on  another  occasion,  resolving  into  a  mere 
paganism  this  deceitful  perversion  of  the  only  real 
Gospel,  he  says : — "  In  Winkelmann's  Letters  I  find 
the  Goethean  Paganism  more  beautifully  and  forcibly 
developed  than  anywhere  else,  as  the  opposite  pole 
of  Christianity,  The  one  is  all  nature;  and  every 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  19 

creature,  as  if  self-created,  is  to  stand  only  on  its  own 
feet — man  is  to  enjoy  all  things,  and  to  resist  or  en- 
dure all  unavoidable  evil,  with  a  strength  whose 
origin  is  in  himself;  the  other  is  a  free-gift  investi- 
ture— all  given  by  grace  and  received  by  love.  Hea- 
thenism and  Christianity  exhaust  everything;  and 
that  which  lies  between,  call  it  by  what  name  you 
please,  is  a  mere  inconsistent  fragment — mere  patch- 
work and  vanity — resulting  either  in  despondency  or 
in  pride." 

The  victory  comes  at  last.  "  How,"  we  find  him 
writing  to  a  friend,  in  the  spring  of  1805,  "can  I 
ever  sufficiently  thank  you,  who  have  been  the 
means  of  giving  a  fixed  direction  to  my  longings  ? 
It  is  through,  you  that  I  have  attained  to  the  reli- 
gious certainty  which  1  now  enjoy,  and  shall  enjoy 
throughout  eternity."  And,  years  afterward,  he 
thus  describes  the  way  by  which  he  reached  it : — 
"  My  trouble  on  account  of  selfishness  and  impurity 
drove  me  to  seek  reconciliation  with  the  God  before 
whom  I  trembled.  Christianity  was  not  forced  upon 
me,  but  I  upon  Christianity ;  I  was  thrown  by  an 
inward  necessity  into  the  arms  of  the  Saviour." 
And  he  adds : — "  For  him  who  in  the  anguish  of 
his  heart,  cries  out,  '  I  am  a  miserable  sinner,'  and 
stretches  out  his  arms  to  the  Saviour — for  him,  I 
say,  '  Christ  died.'  How  closely  then  is  faith  in  the 
Redeemer  allied  with  a  realization  of  one's  own  sin- 
fulness  !"  He  has  reached  the  landing-place,  and  is 
safe. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 


*  Each  breath  is  burdened  with  a  bidding,  and  every  minute  hath  ita 
mission.1' 


Born  to  turn  the  wheel — Life's  battle — New  aim — Book-trade — Caro- 
line— "Not  drift  away  from  the  world" — "Guiding  angel"— Life- 
heroism — War — Home  broken  up — Patriot  heart — "  Great,  because 
in  evil  times" — "  I  can  pray  now." 

PERTHES  is  not  a  mystic,  gauging  frames  and  feel- 
ings. "  I  am  more  than  ever  persuaded,"  he  writes, 
"  that  my  destiny  is  an  active,  masculine  career — 
that  I  am  a  man  born  to  turn  my  own  wheel,  and  that 
of  others,  with  energy."  And  right  manfully  he  turns 
it  on  many  a  trying  scene.  "  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you !"  he  writes  to  the  friend  already  indicated ; 
"  you  it  is  who  have  strengthened  my  young  heart, 
and  have  opened  up  for  me  a  new  moral  career." 
Up  to  this  time  he  has  mistaken  a  planet  (as  he  ex- 
presses it)  for  the  polar  star — the  aurora  borealis  for 
the  dawn  of  the  coming  day.  The  battle  of  life  now 
is  to  be  fought  with  other  weapons  ;  and  he  fights  it 
not  in  vain. 

When  he  first  entered  on  the  book-trade  it  was  as 
the  means  of  a  mere  livelihood,  and  ultimately  of  ac- 
quiring an  independence.  But  now  he  is  possessed 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  21 

with  a  conviction  so  intense  of  its  bearing  on  the 
people's  entire  intellectual  life,  that  the  mere  question 
of  gain  has  henceforth  scarcely  any  weight  with  him. 
"  I  know,"  says  he,  one  day,  "  that  the  book-trade, 
can  be  managed  mechanically,  and  as  a  way  merely 
of  making  money — just  as  I  see,  among  priests,  and 
professors,  and  generals,  some  who,  in  giving  their 
services,  think  only  of  their  daily  bread.  But  a  shud- 
der comes  over  me,  when  I  find  booksellers  make 
common  cause  with  a  crew  of  scribbers  who  hire  out 
tlieir  wits  for  stabling  and  provender.  Germany  is 
deluged  with  wretched  publications,  and  will  be  de- 
livered from  this  plague  only  when  the  booksellers 
shall  care  more  for  honor  than  for  gold." 

And  his  zeal  does  not  evaporate  in  vain  regrets  or 
reproaches.  u  Dear  Campe,"  we  find  him  writing  to 
a  brother  in  trade,  "  in  order  to  bring  about  all  that 
is  possible  and  desirable,  let  us  first  see  that  we  our- 
selves are,  what  we  ought  to  be  ;  let  us  also  increase 
our  knowledge,  and  strive  as  much  as  possible  to  win 
for  our  opinions  friends  and  advocates  among  the 
young  people  of  our  own  standing.  There  are  now 
five  of  us ;  and  what  may  not  five  accomplish,  if 
only  they  are  in  earnest  ?  Let  each  strive  to  diffuse 
a  high  tone  over  his  peculiar  circle ;  let  each  seek 
out  some  choice  spirits;  and,  if  we  persevere,  and 
God  favor  us,  what  may  we  not  achieve  ?"  He  pro- 
ceeds, with  characteristic  energy,  to  carry  his  thoughts 
into  action ;  and  few  men  ever  accomplished  so  great 
a  work. 


22  THE   MAN    OP   BUSINESS  I 

Turning  aside  for  an  interval  from  the  tumult  and 
throng  of  business,  he  finds,  in  the  daughter  of  the 
distinguished  Claudius,  "  a  help  from  above  such  as 
his  soul  required"— one  in  whom  are  "  peace  and 
stability,  devotion  and  truth."  "My  Caroline,"  he 
writes,  "  makes  me  unspeakably  happy  She  is  pious, 
faithful,  true-hearted,  and  submissive ;  her  inward 
course  she  shapes  for  herself,  and  pursues  it  with  a 
steady  step."  And  to  herself,  on  one  of  his  business- 
journeys  : — "  Can  you,  then,  believe  that  my  restless 
labors,  my  activity  and  energy,  can  be  detrimental  to 
you?  Rather  let  us  thank  God  that  He  enables  me 
to  take  pleasure  in  things  which  might  have  been  to 
me  a  burden  and  a  weariness.  Believe  me,  I  under- 
stand your  present  feelings  thoroughly.  While  you 
lived  in  your  father's  house,  you  maintained  a  con- 
stant walk  with  God.  You  had  had  but  one  thought, 
and  but  one  path.  But  then  your  walk  with  God 
was  the  walk  of  a  child  who  knew  sin  and  the  world, 
and  life,  not  at  all,  or  only  by  name.  Now,  however, 
simply  because  you  are  in  the  world,  this  condition 
must  be  disturbed.  Would  you  live  apart  from 
everything  ?  No,  we  are  not  to  drift  away  from  the 
world.  God  demands  not  the  sacrifice  of  natural 
ties,  but  the  submission  of  our  will  to  His.  The  sor- 
row and  annoyances  which  may  be  our  lot  in  the 
world  where  He  has  placed  us,  we  should  bear  with 
inward  tranquillity,  rather  than  seek  to  escape  from 
them." 

These  are  wise  counsels,  and  they  are  not  lost  upon 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  23 

her.  "  Caroline  does  not  find  life  easy,"  he  writes  at 
a  later  period  to  a  friend ;  "  in  spite  of  her  cairn 
temper,  and  her  rich  and  lively  fancy,  she  feels  it 
hard  to  have  to  do  with  the  ever-changing  and  finite 
things  of  the  world  and  of  time.  And  yet,  when  I 
see  her  holding  fast  by  her  inward  life  in  spite  of  the 
annoyances  which  the  tumult  and  distractions  of  her 
daily  existence  too  often  cause  her,  and  also  fulfilling 
the  outward  duties  of  her  position  in  a  manner  so 
self-denying,  kind,  and  noble,  she  imparts  strength  to 
me,  and  becomes  truly  my  guiding  angel.  Her  lofty 
spirit,  her  life-heroism,  her  humility  of  bearing,  her 
pure  piety,  constitute  the  happiness  and  blessing  of 
my  life." 

The  war  breaks  up  his  pleasant  home.  Ham- 
burgh is  for  months  in  the  hands  of  the  French  ; 
and,  with  a  true  patriot-heart,  he  forsakes  all  rather 
than  be  a  slave.  Most  trying  hardships  follow  ;  but 
Perthes  stands  firm.  "May  God  enable  me  to  do 
what  is  right  without  exultation,"  writes  the  brave 
man,  as  the  trial  is  at  its  height :  "  I  will  preserve 
my  integrity  ;  I  will  look  upon  my  fatherland  with  a 
good  conscience,  and  will  return  to  our  city  with  an 
open  countenance  and  head  erect."  • 

Seldom  has  a  family  been  overtaken  by  a  calamity 
more  stern.  "  There  are  season  s,"  he  writes  to  his 
wife,  who  has  fled  with  the  children  for  safety  to 
Gotha,  "  in  which  the  whole  weight  of  the  anxieties 
which  await  us  in  the  future,  and  of  the  sorrow  which 
is  involved  in  the  present,  presses  heavily  upon  me. 


24  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

Your  task  is,  indeed,  a  hard  one ;  but  mine  is  not 
light.  Have  patience ;  be  calm  and  self-possessed, 
my  beloved  Caroline :  trust  to  my  sense  and  pru- 
dence, and  leave  the  event  to  God.  I  trust  to  youi 
wisdom,  your  energy,  your  affection  ;  and  I  pray 
God  to  give  you  what  you  want,  and  that  is  tran- 
quillity." And  in  another  letter  : — "  Thank  God  that 
you,  my  darlings,  and  my  only  earthly  treasures,  are 
well.  Dear  Caroline,  what  a  vast  wilderness  the 
world  becomes  when  man  has  no  home  !  The  sight 
of  little  children  always  brings  tears  into  my  eyes." 

But  Perthes  breasts  the  surge  nobly.  "Ought 
we  not  feel  ourselves  great,"  he  says,  one  day,  "  just 
because  we  are  born  in  such  evil  times  ?"  But  it  is 
not  Roman  greatness.  "  What  the  highest  greatness 
is  without  love,"  he  remarks,  on  another  occasion, 
"  we  may  see  in  the  devil."  That  greatness  Perthes 
covets  no  more ;  but  the  crisis  proves  him  truly 
great.  "  God  will  help  me,"  he  writes  ;  "  I  dare  not 
leave  what  I  have  undertaken.  It  is  my  business  to 
lift  up  my  voice  for  truth  and  justice  as  opportunity 
offers,  and  to  show  that  the  will  of  God  is  not  alto- 
gether forgotton,  in  spite  of  the  sinfulness  and  weak- 
ness which  everywhere  impede  its  clear  and  perfect 
recognition.  That  in  times  such  as  these,  when  the 
struggle  betwixt  good  and  evil,  truth  and  falsehood, 
\s  so  fierce,  a  man  cannot  hope  to  achieve  anything 
without  risking  much — that,  in  order  to  do  homage 
to  truth  and  right,  a  man  must  be  ready  to  give  up 
heart,  and  life,  and  fortune,  and  estate — that,  my 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  25 

noble  wife,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  I  have  courage, 
and  energy,  and  moderate  desires  ;  and  I  am  at  peace 
with  God,  and  with  myself.  I  can  pray  now  as  I 
never  prayed  before,  and  I  pray  much.  My  much- 
loved  Caroline,  take  courage  and  be  calm  ;  God  will 
help  you,  and  me  also."  Perthes'  Christianity  is  not 
a  hot-house  plant — it  can  brave  and  can  outlive  the 
storm. 

3 


CHAPTEE   V. 


"  If  I  have  more  to  spin, 
The  wheel  shall  go." 


German  mind— Erratic  tendencies— Perthes1  "  plough"— New  era  in 
publishing— Claudius— "Tried  wrestlers"— Unselfish  in  business— 
— Social  sympathies — "Family  Egotism"1 — Neighborly — Loving  and 
being  loved— Battle  of  youth  past— Heart  not  old— "  Truth  and 
Spirit-love"— Christian  phrases— "  Breath  of  the  age"— "  Organ- 
grinders." 

THE  war  has  ended ;  and  his  desolated  home  is  re- 
stored, and  his  business  is  once  more  resumed.  Not 
content  with  half-measures,  he  sees  that  the  time  is 
come  for  giving  to  the  book-trade  of  Germany  a  fresh 
impulse  ;  and  right  well  does  he  fulfil  his  mission  in 
the  momentous  era  which,  during  the  next  twenty 
or  thirty  years,  marks  the  German  mind.  Scarce  a 
single  peril  besets  the  faith,  at  the  hands  of  his  er- 
ratic countrymen,  which  Perth es  does  not  hasten  at 
once  to  meet.  "  I  have  the  gift,"  we  find  him  writ- 
ing, respecting  one  of  his  great  publishing  enterprises, 
"  of  uniting  the  dispersed,  bringing  the  distant  near 
together,  and  tuning  any  discord  of  heart  and  mind 
amongst  right-feeling  men.  This  is  the  plough  I 
have  ploughed  with,  all  my  life."  And  he  does  not 
miss  his  mark.  The  undertaking  obtains  the  cordial 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  27 

adherence  of  the  leading  minds  of  the  day.  A  new 
era  dawns  on  the  publishing  business  of  Continental 
Europe. 

"  It  does  a  wrestling  man  good,"  says  he,  on  one 
occasion,  alluding  to  a  picture  of  Claudius  which  he 
has  been  hanging  up  in  his  room,  "  to  be  surrounded 
constantly  by  tried  wrestlers."  Not  memorials  only 
of  departed  wrestlers,  but  living  athletes  in  life's  great 
struggle,  does  he  always  seek  to  gather  round  him. 
"  Remember,"  is  one  of  his  maxims,  "  you  are  not 
alone  in  the  world,"  And  worthily  does  he  fulfil  the 
maxim  in  his  own  daily  life.  Not  selfishly  jealous  of 
rival  competitors,  but  aiming  only  to  multiply  the 
channels  of  blessing,  he  initiates  into  his  own  great 
thoughts  one  and  another,  and  another,  in  whom  his 
eagle  eye  discerns  a  capacity  to  rise  to  greatness. 
"  The  majority  of  men  are  common-place,"  he  writes, 
"  and  carry  on  their  calling  in  a  common-place  way, 
whether  it  be  spiritual,  or  worldly,  mercantile  or  mil- 
itary." 

If  all  Christians  were  like  Perthes,  the  name  of 
Christ  would  be  less  often  blasphemed  in  the  count- 
ing-house and  in  the  busy  mart.  "We  have  now, 
dear  brother,"  are  his  words  to  one  of  those  men, 
who  have  owed  to  him  so  much,  "  worked  together 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  carrying  on  one  and  the 
same  concern  in  troublous  times.  Not  once  have  we 
taken  different  views  as  to  '  meum  and  tuum ;'  not 
for  one  moment  during,  all  these  years  have  we  ever 
felt  it  possible  to  waver  in  our  mutual  confidence. 


28  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

Let  us  thank  God  that  at  the  hour  of  parting  that 
confidence  is  as  firm  and  pure  as  it  has  been  during 
our  long-associated  life." 

Thomas  Chalmers  often  notes  in  his  "Diary"  a 
tendency  to  "  hide  himself  from  his  own  flesh."  A 
warmer  or  more  genial  heart  ^never  throbbed  within 
a  human  bosom ;  and  yet  he  needed  to  set  a  daily 
watch  upon  his  spirit,  lest  he  should  be  pleasing  him- 
self by  shutting  himself  up  in  his  study  y  or  in  the 
privacy  of  home,  instead  of  going  out  among  his  fel- 
lows, or  welcoming  them  to  his  social  board.  Perthes 
is  continually  watching,  and  stimulating  others  to 
watch,  against  this  snare.  "Do  not  shut  up  your 
house  from  your  friends,"  he  writes  to  one  of  his 
married  daughters — "it  is  perilous,  and  leads  to 
family-egotism,  and  brings  its  own  punishment. 
Communicate  freely  with  others,  and  show  that  do- 
mestic happiness  does  not  estrange  you  from  them. 
The  earth  is  God's  house,  and  we  may  not  live  only 
to  ourselves.  I  know  that  you  will  not  let  any  needy 
person  whom  you  can  help  go  empty  away;  but 
neighbors  and  acquaintances  wish  to  talk  of  their  af- 
fairs, their  joys  and  sorrows,  and  those  of  their 
friends,  and  nothing  is  so  offensive  as  cold  reserve,  as 
though  we  were  beings  of  a  superior  nature,  able  to 
live,  and  suffer,  and  rejoice  alone."  And  to  his  wife, 
during  her  residence  in  Gotha :  "  Only  make  the  at- 
tempt ;  let  your  heart  speak  in  truth  and  confidence, 
and  you  will  find  that  what  comes  from  the  heart 
goes  to  the  heart ;  you  will  be  met  more  than  half 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  29 

way,  for  the  necessity  of  loving  and  being  loved  is 
common  to  us  all." 

His  sun  is  now  past  its  meridian ;  but  bis  heart 
does  not  grow  old.  "  The  battle  of  youth,"  we  find 
him  writing,  "is  over  and  gone,  and  evening  is  at 
hand.  Time  may  blunt  the  nerves,  and  stiffen  the 
limbs,  but  it  has  no  power  over  love,  which  is  the  life 
of  men — the  core  of  their  personality.  Despite  my 
half-century,  I  feel  no  diminution  of  love." 

And  this  freshness  of  the  heart  gives  to  him  an 
ever-freshening  zest  for  truth.  "  Love,"  we  find  him 
writing,  "  is  the  sum-total  of  life ;  and  it  is  only  ac- 
cording to  our  measure  of  it,  that  we  are  accessible 
to  truth.  Man  has  part  in  the  eternal,  only  in  so 
far  as  he  cherishes  in  himself  the  Divine  Spirit- 
love." 

Nothing  is  so  perilous  to  the  soul  as  familiarity 
with  evangelical  phrases,  coupled  with  deadness  of 
heart.  Never  in  any  age  was  this  peril  more  menac- 
ing than  in  our  own.  One  day  Perthes,  warning  a 
young  man  in  whom  he  feels  a  deep  concern,  writes  : 
"  The  hurry,  characteristic  of  our  age,  appears  in  the 
development  of  its  religious  life.  Dangers  which, 
years  ago,  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  to  think  of, 
are  already  at  hand.  Our  youth,  who  have  any  spir- 
itual life,  complain  of  Rationalism  as  cold  and  barren, 
and  make  use  of  Christian  phrases,  and  an  orthodox 
Biblical  terminology,  which  the  breath  of  the  age — 
not  the  Holy  Ghost — has  blown  in  their  way — without, 
however,  being  convinced  of  their  own  sins,  or  long- 
3* 


30  THE    MAN    OF   BUSINESS. 

ing  for  deliverance  from  them,  or  humbly  accepting 
justification  by  faith.  The  spirit  of  the  age  may,  in- 
deed, imbue  a  generation  with  Christian  doctrine; 
but  Christian  faith  can  arise  only  from  that  sense  of 
need  for  deliverance  from  sin  which  makes  a  man 
stretch  out  his  arms  in  humble  supplication.  Chris- 
tian knowledge  without  Christian  faith  is  a  danger- 
ous thing,  both  for  the  individual  and  for  a  people." 
"  Organ-grinders"  he  used*  to  designate  those  re- 
tailers of  Bible-terms  and  evangelical  phrases — "  a 
weariness  to  themselves  and  to  others."  And  is  not 
the  Church  groaning  at  this  hour  beneath  the  bur- 
den of  such  ?  Cant  utterances,  but  no  commanding 
power — is  not  that  the  caterpillar  which  is  devouring 
the  freshness  of  the  trees  in  the  Lord's  garden  ?  0 
God !  arise,  and  renew  our  waste  places.  Hast  not 
hath  said,  "  I  will  restore  that  which  the  caterpillar 
thou  eaten  ?" 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"Such  ar  one  seemeth  as  superior  to  the  native  instability  of  crea- 

That  he  d'oeth  he  doeth  as  a  God,  and  men  will  marvel  at  his  cour- 
age." 

"Fi"ht  to  the  end"— "  Only  figure  among  ciphers"— Neander— Strauss 
— «  Salvation  of  souls"—"  Energy"— A  model  for  publishers-Gotha 
-Secularism-His  son  at  college-A  snare-Besser-Consolations- 
Yearnings — "  A  dark  web." 

EARNESTLY  does  Perthes  continue  to  ply  his  voca- 
tion. "  To  withdraw  one's  self  entirely  from  contact 
with  the  world,"  he  writes  to  his  son,  urging  on  him 
his  own  healthful  religious  life,  "  is  impossible  under 
the  conditions  of  time  and  space.  But,  if  the  attempt 
to  lead  an  exclusively  inner  life  be  hopeless,  we  have 
the  comfort  of  knowing  that  such  a  life  is  not  or- 
dained of  God,  but  devised  by  man's  own  deluded 
will.  We  may,  indeed,  with  the  loftiest  sentiments 
and  the  sublimest  ideas,  imagine  it ;  but  we  are  de- 
ceived by  Satan.  Behind  the  lofty  sentiment  lurks 
sloth,  which  hopes  for  the  crown  without  the  con- 
flict; and  behind  the  sublime  idea  lurks  pride, 
which,  in  its  independence  of  the  world,  would  fain 
assume  Divinity.  We  can  do  nothing  but  fight 
to  the  end.  If  we  have  conquered  the  grosser  and 


32  THE   MAN    OF   BUSINESS! 

ruder  forms  of  temptation,  we  have  hourly  to  guard 
against  more  subtle  and  gentle  attacks.  This  world 
is  not  made  for  rest  after  victory  :  fight  on,  love,  and 
trust  God's  grace." 

Bacon  remarks  somewhere,  that  "  he  who  plots  to 
be  the  only  figure  among  ciphers,  is  the  decay  of  a 
whole  age."  It  is  not  among  ciphers  that  Frederick 
Perthes  takes  so  marked  a  place.  The  leading 
minds  of  the  age  owe  to  him  a  directing  energy.  "  I 
think,"  we  find  him  writing,  for  example,  regarding 
the  method  adopted  by  some  Germans  to  confront 
the  infidel  Strauss,  "  our  divines  might  have  shown  a 
greater  respect  for  themselves  than  they  have  done 
in  encountering  Strauss.  They  have  simply  taken  up 
their  position  in  the  arena  of  scientific  theology,  which 
is  common  to  him  and  them — whereas  they,  whose 
vocation  it  is  to  defend  the  truths  insulted,  might 
well  have  manifested  indignation  against  the  man 
who  con  amore  and  audaciously  routs  about  among 
the  events  and  truths  on  which  the  whole  Christian 
world  believes  its  eternal  salvation  to  depend."  And, 
writing  to  the  great  Neander,  he  says  : — "  I  do  not 
think  that  much  would  be  gained  by  discovering 
scientifically  the  weak  points  of  Strauss,  Vatke,  and 
the  like.  When  it  is  merely  science  against  science, 
I  tremble  for  theology.  The  matter  on  hand  is,  not 
the  solution  of  a  scientific  problem,  but  the  salvation 
of  souls.  Whoever  would  make  the  saving  truths 
of  revelation  his  own,  or  would  lead  others  to  them, 
must  start  from  facts  coming  within  his  own  imme- 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  33 

diate  knowledge.  The  depravity  of  all  mankind ; 
sin';  our  double  nature  (after  conversion) ;  wrest- 
ling, weakness,  and  death  in  every  individual ;  and 
the  ardent  longing  of  the  whole  man  for  deliverance 
from  such  evils ; — these  are  facts,  and  they  form 
a  basis  for  faith  in  the  salvation  revealed  by  Scrip- 
ture. To  every  one  in  whose  soul  God  has  estab- 
lished such  a  basis  of  faith,  the  life  of  Jesus  and  of 
the  apostles  becomes  the  keystone  of  the  world's  his- 
tory, even  scientifically  regarded;  and  it  was  this 
evolution  of  sacred  history  from  facts  within  our  im- 
mediate ken  which  I  meant,  when  expressing  my  joy 
that,  in  addition  to  your  critical  history,  you  contem- 
plated also  a  positive  treatment  of  primitive  Chris- 
tianity." 

Perthes  is  not  the  man  to  suffer  this  flood  of  de- 
structive error  to  go  forth  over  the  land  unchecked. 
"  A  miscellaneous  rabble,"  he  writes,  "  are  now  rifling 
Strauss'  works,  with  a  view  to  their  popular  interpre- 
tation and  universal  diffusion.  A  sharp  eye  should 
be  kept  on  them,  as  they  evidently  have  high  intel- 
lect at  command.  Whoever,  like  me,  has  seen  par- 
ties rise  and  fall  during  half  a  century,  is  not  startled 
at  the  up-blazing  of  a  meteor.  Straussism,  however, 
may  become  a  power  for  ten  years  ;  just  because  in 
ten  years  the  devil  can  destroy  many  souls,  it  is  not 
to  be  overlooked."  These  words  reveal  the  secret 
of  his  many  trade-undertakings ; — he  is  not  a  mere 
panderer  to  the  taste  even  of  the  really  religious, 
hoping  thereby  to  make  money; — he  lives  for  a 


34  .     THE   MAN    OF   BUSINESS  : 

nobler  end — his  mission  is  to  circulate  truth,  and, 
worthily  does  he  fulfil  it. 

"We  are  now  beginning  a  common  enterprise," 
he  writes  to  a  professor  at  Heidelberg  in  1825,  on 
commencing  a  religious  periodical,  "  by  which  we 
desire  to  forward  the  cause  of  truth  and  God's  glory. 
I  say  a  common  enterprise,  because  I  will  employ  in 
it  my  time,  my  energies,  and  my  substance  in  order  to 
procure  for  worthy  men  an  opportunity  of  influencing 
the  age.  I  do  not  expect  any  return,  the  difficulties 
with  which  such  a  periodical  would  have  to  contend 
being  very  great." 

It  is  Perthes  who  at  this  period  induces  Neander 
to  commence  his  immortal  "  History  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church."  "  Your  challenge "  writes  Neander 

o  ' 

to  him,  "  will  not  have  been  in  vain."  And,  after 
receiving  a  visit  from  him  at  Gotha,  at  which  it  is 
decided  that  he  shall  undertake  the  great  work, 
Perthes  writes: — "God  give  Neander  health  and 
strength  to  finish  it !  Perhaps  there  is  no  one  who, 
at  this  present  time,  can  do  so  much  as  he  for  Chris- 
tianity." If  Perthes  had  never  done  any  other  service 
than  this,  he  had  not  lived  in  vain. 

The  poet  Cowper,  tracing  the  aberrations  of  the 
sceptic  to  their  real  source,  has  written : — 

"  Faults  in  the  life  breed  errors  in  the  braim, 
And  these  reciprocally  these  again. 
The  mind  and  conduct  mutually  imprint, 
And  stamp  their  image  in  each  other's  mint." 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  35 

And  again,  he  says : — 

"  Thus  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill, 
Bend  the  straight  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will; 
And,  with  a  clear  and  shining  lamp  supplied, 
First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide." 

It  is  because  Perthes  has  himself  been  driven  upon 
truth  by  the  inward  necessities  of  an  accusing  con- 
science and  of  a  vacant  heart,  that  he  feels  so  intense 
a  compassion  for  all  who  are  out  of  the  way.  "  On 
one  side,"  we  have  him  writing,  "  is  secularism,  dead 
to  all  but  earthly  things ;  and,  on  the  other,  a  rest- 
less agitation,  which  spends  its  strength  in  unsettling 
all  that  has  hitherto  given  peace  to  the  soul."  And 
again : — "  I  am  convinced  that  you  will  soon  dis- 
cover that  all  mere  philosophy  is  vain,  and  will 
gladly  avail  yourself  of  Revelation ;  if,  indeed,  any 
true  religious  feeling  be  awakened  within  you."  And 
to  another : — "  Strauss'  work  will  shake  all  who  have 
not  been  brought,  by  personal  experience  and  in- 
ward struggle,  to  Christ." 

His  eldest  son  has  left  home  for  the  University ; 
and  the  father,  it  may  be  supposed,  is  not  without  his 
anxieties.  "  When  a  man,"  he  writes  to  him,  "  has 
passed  through  the  season  of  wayward  minority  and 
stands  erect  in  manhood,  he  asks  himself,  *  What 
means  all  this  V  his  reply  must  be — '  All  below  is 
vain  and  fleeting ;  true  joy  and  peace  are  only  to  be 
found  in  spiritual  life.7  I  have  done  many  things, 
and  perhaps  well ;  but  where  is  the  fruit  of  the  bios- 


36  THE   MAN   OF   BUSINESS: 

soms  which  looked  so  promising  ?  The  ideals  have 
disappeared,  but  not  the  faculty  of  labor  ;  and  there- 
fore, clothed  with  humility,  *  Forward,'  I  say,  *  to 
suffer  and  to  do.'  This  is  to  become  a  master  in  the 
business  of  life  ;  but  it  is  vain  to  expect  that  this  can 
be  attained  without  passing  through  an  apprentice- 
ship. Here  it  is  that  so  many  well-disposed  youths 
of  the  present  day  make  shipwreck.  They  affect  a 
simplicity,  plainness,  and  stoutness  of  heart,  which 
almost  look  like  the  repose  and  dignity  of  age." 

And  others  share  his  tender  sympathies.  "  It  is 
your  body  which  again  inflicts  upon  you  the  well- 
known  '  grey  season,' "  we  find  him  writing  to  his 
friend  Besser,  whose  failing  health  has  brought  on 
fits  of  deep  melancholy  ;  "  and  no  one  is  perfect  mas- 
ter over  bodily  moods.  You  might  very  often  scare 
away  the  *  grey'  mood,  by  calmly  considering  how 
trivial  are  the  causes  of  your  anxiety,  and  with  what 
ease  you  have  overcome  such  before.  But,  indeed,  I 
know  only  too  well  how  it  is  with  the  man  :  the  head 
may  be  weary  and  the  heart  full  of  love  and  devo- 
tion ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  the  head  clear,  and  the 
heart  cold  and  barren ;  but  sorrow  weighs  down 
head  and  heart  alike,  just  as  joy  brightens  both. 
4  Take  courage  till  life's  phantasmagoria  are  over.' 
You  say  that  life  becomes  a  burden  ;  and  so  it  must 
to  us  all,  as  we  grow  old :  but  we  should  try  to  ac- 
custom ourselves  to  a  new  race  of  men,  or  rather  to 
the  same  men  differently  dressed.  While  we  live, 
we  must  put  up  with  novelty  ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to 


FREDERICK    PERTHE8.  37 

die — one  gets  tired  of  evermore  picking  off  one  husk 
after  another  from  the  kernel  of  truth.  Here  nothing 
endures ;  what  most  we  love,  is  torn  away ;  all  is 
brittle  and  perishable,  and  we  ourselves  are  but 
broken  reeds.  Our  heart  overflows  with  love  to 
some  dear  object ;  and  yet,  how  imperfect  the  union, 
how  weak  the  sympathy  !  And  even  he  who  knows 
that  love  to  God  is  the  only  enduring  love,  and  that 
it  is  the  only  anchor  of  the  soul — how  deeply  he  feels 
that  he  can  but  seldom  draw  near  to  his  Father  with 
perfect  resignation  and  sincerity  !" 

And,  again,  to  the  same  friend  : — "  Your  bodily 
frame  is  not  in  unison  with  your  loving  nature,  your 
lively  fancy,  and  elastic  activity.  You  have  been 
weaving  again  a  dark  web  of  feeling  and  thought, 
which  holds  you  fast,  as  though  it  were  of  iron 
strength,  while  in  reality  it  is  but  a  spider's  web." 
4 


CHAPTEE    VII. 

''Faith,  firmness,  confidence,  consistency — these  are  well  allied.*1 


"  Vegetating"  and  "  Living" — Instinct  of  activity — "  Hard  work" — A 
"  serious"  dream — "  Common-places  for  the  invisible" — a  Bibliolatry'1 
— The  shell  and  the  kernel — Symmetry  of  truth — Bible's  unity- 
Luther—  Rationalism— Pietism  and  Christianity— Tauler— Theologi- 
cal strife  and  religious  life — Not  the  ideal  of  Christ,  but  His  person 
— Life  in  God — "  Polite  society" — Pillory — "  Understands  erection 
of  a  stake" — Party-wrangling. 

As  years  pass  on,  Perthes  does  not  "  turn  the 
wheel"  less  energetically.  "  *  All  is  vanity/ "  he 
writes,  "  does  indeed  come  home  to  the  man  of  ripe 
years,  when  he  reflects  upon  all  that  in  life's  vicissi- 
tudes has  charmed  and  enchained  his  heart  and 
mind  ;  but  he  who,  because  all  things  are  vain, 
should  cease  to  take  a  part  in  them,  would  merely 
vegetate,  and  no  longer  live.  An  entirely  contem- 
plative life  is  an  impossibility  ;  the  instinct  of  activity 
is  innate ;  at  all  events,  hard  work  is  to  me  a  habit 
with  which  I  cannot  dispense.  He  who  should  at- 
tempt nothing  on  earth  but  to  meditate  on  God,  and 
feel  His  presence,  would  soon  cease  to  do  either.  The 
Christian  is  set  in  the  midst  of  the  world ;  and,  let 
him  stand  where  he  may,  he  will  always  be  called  on 
to  fulfil  various  external  duties :  in  these  he  is  to  act 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  39 

as  skilfully,  expeditiously,  and  energetically  as  his 
faculties  will  allow ;  and  he  may  not  extinguish  his 
earthly  nature  or  his  senses,  for  he  needs  them  all  in 
order  to  be  God's  faithful  servant  and  steward." 

Perthes  continues  to  urge  upon  all  his  friends,  with 
a  growing  earnestness,  the  grave  responsibilities  of 
this  brief  hour  of  probation.  "Life,"  we  find  him 
writing,  "  is  a  dream,  but  a  very  serious  one ;  and 
our  dreams  are  solemn  truths  veiled  in  airy  fiction. 
People  here  are  taken  up  with  the  visible,  and  have 
only  a  few  trite  common-places  to  bestow  upon  the 
invisible."  Perthes  himself  has  "  learned,"  as  he  ex- 
presses it,  "  to  deny  himself  without  self-annihilation, 
and  to  renounce  the  world  without  living  a  monkish 
life." 

There  is  a  delusive  religious  system  in  England  at 
the  present  day,  originating  in  an  "inner  life"  not 
implanted  by  God,  but  self-developed,  deriding  and 
pitying  with  a  kind  of  condescending  scorn  the  lowly 
Christian,  who,  cleaving  to  his  Bible,  lives  day  by 
day  upon  "  every  word  which  proceedeth  out  of  the 
mouth  of  God."  Surrounded  in  Germany  at  this  pe- 
riod by  that  pestilential  and  deceitful  atmosphere, 
Perthes  writes :  "  What  we  need,  to  equip  us  for  the 
battle  of  life,  is — Christ  and  the  holy  Scripture." 
And  on  another  occasion : — "  I  find  that  the  benefit 
I  receive  from  Scripture  in  a  great  measure  depends 
upon  myself.  How  often,  on  turning  to  it  to  clear 
up  some  historical  sequence  or  some  obscure  doctrine 
— to  find  material  for  imagination  or  ground  for  hy- 


40  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

pothesis,  I  only  get  at  the  shell  instead  of  the  kernel ! 
or,  again,  if  in  high-wrought  moments  a  clearer  in- 
sight be  afforded,  how  prone  we  are  to  seek  to  im- 
prove and  define  it 'by  our  own  strength,  and  so  to 
bring  to  light  human  fictions  instead  of  divine  truth  ! 
The  mysteries  of  holy  Scripture  are  only  revealed  to 
us  when  we  are  seeking  for  nothing  else  but  for  the 
way  of  reconciliation  with  God,  and  for  help  in  our 
battle  with  selfishness  and  sin."  And  again  :  "  God 
gave  a  revelation  to  men,  not  to  increase  their  knowl- 
edge, but  to  deliver  them  from  sin." 

The  Bible  is  to  him  not  a  multitude  of  discordant 
fragments,  but  a  divine  and  majestic  whole ;  and  for 
this  symmetry  of  truth  he  is  peculiarly  jealous,  be- 
cause he  feels  that  it  bears  directly  and  immediately 
upon  the  symmetry  of  the  Christian  life.  "  The  ear- 
lier theologians,"  we  find  him  writing,  about  the  Bi- 
ble's charactreistic  as  an  unbroken  unity,  "  have  per- 
haps too  little  remembered  that  God  has  spoken  in 
the  Bible,  not  immediately,  but  through  John,  Peter, 
and  Paul.  At  the  present  time,  however,  we  are 
certainly  in  danger  of  overlooking  the  unity  of  the 
Scripture,  while  dwelling  on  the  individual  writings 
of  Paul,  John,  and  Peter.  In  short,  the  trees  prevent 
our  seeing  the  forest,  and  we  forget  that  it  is  not 
with  a  colled  ion  of  separate  writings  that  we  have  to 
do,  but  with  the  Bible  as  a  whole,  as  being  the  Word 
which,  during  the  course  of  the  world's  history,  God 
wrote  down  for  man's  salvation ;  and  which  contains 
nothing  more,  indeed,  but  still  nothing  less,  than  is 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  41 

necessary  to  reveal  the  mystery  of  godliness.  It  is 
not  so  much  from  the  individuality  of  the  writers  of 
the  Epistles  and  Gospels  that  we  are  to  understand 
their  writings,  as  from  the  relation  of  these  to  the 
whole." 

His  favorite  author  is  Luther ;  and  one  of  his  chief 
projects,  in  these  his  latter  days,  is  to  give  Luther 
again  to  his  country.  "  As  a  whole,"  he  writes, 
broaching  this  subject,  "  Luther  belongs  to  all  times 
— so  great,  so  pure,  so  powerful,  was  his  knowledge 
of  eternal  truth,  that  we  may  always  find  in  him  a 
guide  to  God.  But  who  is  acquainted  with  him 
now-a-days  ?  Few  guess  what  he  was  and  what  he 
effected.  Were  he  better  known,  his  mighty  mind 
and  heart-piercing  words  respecting  sin  and  repent- 
ance, faith  and  the  atonement,  would  smite,  like  a 
flaming  sword,  the  dry  and  unbelieving  mass  of  Ra- 
tionalism ;  while  others  would  hear,  with  surprise, 
how  Luther  insisted  upon  knowledge  and  reflection, 
and,  with  all  the  energy  of  his  healthy  nature,  op- 
posed a  weak  and  sickly  pietism.  To  try  at  the  pres- 
ent time  to  bring  Luther  as  a  whole  before  his  na- 
tion, were  indeed  a  noble  and  blessed  undertaking." 

But,  whilst  disrelishing  mystic  pietism,  Perthes  is 
too  intent  on  living  the  heavenly  life  to  be  drawn 
away,  by  this  disrelish,  from  a  holy,  self-denying 
walk.  "  What  the  Rationalists  call  pietism,"  Nean- 
der  has  written  to  him,  "is  nothing  but  Christianity 
itself."  And  he  himself  writes  :  "  With  these  people, 
the  Christian  is  but  a  pietist,  and  the  pietist  is  but  a 
4* 


42  THE    MAN    OF   BUSINESS  I 

hypocrite."  And  again,  alluding  to  an  author  whom 
many  denounced  as  a  pietist,  he  says :  "  That  which 
Luther  aimed  at  making  openly  known,  had  already 
been  announced,  centuries  before,  by  Tauler.  In  this 
exalted  man  we  find  humility,  fervor,  and  sincerity, 
united  with  vigorous  inquiry  and  a  free  use  of  human 
reason.  Luther  called  him  a  man  of  God — a  teacher 
such  as  there  had  not  been  since  the  days  of  the 
apostles.  At  the  present  time,  all  may  find  in  him 
what  they  need — CHRIST." 

His  ripening  spirituality  shrinks  with  an  intense 
sensitiveness  from  mere  theological  disputations. 
"  On  both  sides,"  he  says,  "  springs  up  a  hard  feeling, 
which  should  least  of  all  find  place  in  holy  things. 
Theological  strife  brings,  if  not  gall,  at  least  worm- 
wood, into  religious  life."  And  to  another,  he  writes : 
"  Even  if  to-day  we  argued  with  the  devil  down  into 
the  abyss,  he  would  rise  from  it  to-morrow  with  a 
more  subtle  analysis  and  a  more  seductive  tongue. 
You  say  that  many  can  hardly  attain  faith  till  certain 
difficulties  are  solved  for  them  scientifically.  I  doubt 
if  any  one  was  ever  led  through  science  to  faith,  till 
his  very  bones  and  marrow  quivered  under  this  ques- 
tion— *  Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am  !  who  shall  de- 
liver me  from  the  body  of  this  death  ?' "  And  he 
adds :  "  Now-a-days  science  is  at  once  the  starting- 
point  and  the  goal  of  Protestantism.  Even  with  the 
best  among  the  theologians,  Christianity  is  but  a  stage 
on  the  way  to  science  ;  and,  whilst  they  are  anxiously 
ferreting  out  scientific  results  with  which  to  prop  up 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  43 

their  faith,  the  age  is  demanding,  not  Christian  the- 
ology, but  the  Christian  Church — not  notions,  but 
deeds — not  the  ideal  of  Christ,  but  His  very  living 
Person." 

And  how  he  himself  is  realizing  this  living  fellow- 
ship, we  may  gather  from  such  words  as  the  follow- 
ing :  — vi  Being,  the  only  real  being,  consists  in  giving 
one's  self  up  to  God — is  to  be  found  only  in  the  life 
in  God.  You  say  that  to  live  with  God  can  only 
mean  to  have  intercourse  with  Him,  and  that  he 
who  has  such  intercourse  must  needs  be  conscious  of 
it.  Now,  the  latter  proposition  is  true,  but  not  the 
former ;  f  jr  intercourse  supposes  strangers  who  seek 
to  become  better  acquainted — intercourse  is,  indeed, 
but  a  repetition  of  attempts  to  abolish  an  existing 
separation.  Friends  and  acquaintances  have  inter- 
course with  one  another;  but  who  would  use  that 
word  to  express  the  relation  betwixt  mother  and 
child?" 

A  Christian  like  Perthes  is  not  likely  to  escape  the 
reproach  of  a  lukewarm  age.  "There  are  few  places 
in  Germany,"  he  writes,  "  where  a  man  'could  speak 
of  Christ  in  polite  society  without  being  covered  with 
derision  and  contempt.  A  man  who  confesses  the 
Saviour  is  pilloried ;  the  whole  public  is  against 
him."  And  elsewhere,  reading  with  a  keen  glance 
the  real  spirit  of  the  times,  he  says  : — "  Our  age, 
with  all  its  humanity,  understands  the  erection  of  a 
stake."  And,  on  another  occasion,  alluding  to  some 
young  men  who,  for  their  earnest  zeal  for  Christ,  have 


44  THE    MAN    OF   BUSINESS. 

begun  to  be  reproached  as  "  of  a  sombre  mood,"  lie 
writes  : — "  If  the  zeal  of  the  young  men  be  sincere, 
you  need  not  alarm  yourself  about  their  gloom." 

The  wranglings  of  party-strife  grow  more  and  more 
distasteful  to  him.  "  Whoever  is  convinced  of  sin," 
he  writes,  "  and  believes  in  redemption  through 
Christ,  is  a  Christian,  no  matter  what  be  the  colors 
of  his  party.  Wherever  Christians  are  divided  into 
parties,  truth  and  its  opposite  are  mingled  in  them 
all.  The  solution  must  come  from  within — from  the 
power  of  truth  and  love  reconciling  all  things.  That 
all  should  repent,  and  humble  themselves  sincerely 
before  God,  is  the  thing  needed — not  the  battle-cry 
of  embittered  parties." 


OHAPTEE    VIII. 


"  Honesty,  though  making  many  adversaries, 
Whom  prudence' might  have  set  aside,  or  charity  have  softened, 
Evermore  will  prosper  at  the  last,  and  gain  a  man  great  honor, 
By  giving  others  many  goods." 


At  the  head  of  the  German  trade — Secret  of  success — Incident  at 
the  book-fair — Holy  walk — "  Pray  and  work" — Daily  communion — 
"Use  as  not  abusing" — Friendship — Constancy — The  immortal — 
Abasement — Aspirations — "More  simple" — Rustic  retreat — Life  in 
the  woods— The  cottage— Tholuck— Olshausen— Doctor  of  Philoso- 
phy. 

As  a  publisher  and  a  bookseller,  he  has  risen  into 
the  very  foremost  place  in  Germany.  "I  behold 
with  surprise,"  writes  a  learned  countryman  to  him 
in  1835,  "your  professional  activity.  By  the  publi- 
cation of  such  solid  works,  and  by  the  carrying  out 
of  so  many  bold  undertakings,  you  are  raising  a 
memorial  to  your  name  which  will  not  soon  pass 
away."  And  another  writes  : — "  Perthes  always 
knows  what  he  wants ;  he  understands  people's 
tastes ;  and  whatever  he  does,  he  does  with  his 
whole  might :  in  that  lies  the  secret  of  his  success." 
And  a  professional  brother  we  find  saying  of  him  : — 
"No  one  ever  occupied  so  prominent  a  position 
amongst  us,  or  influenced  the  book-trade  as  a  whole, 


46  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

and  its  individual  members,  so  powerfully  as  he." 
And  himself  we  find  writing  in  1842,  thus: — "In 
the  long  life,  full  of  chequered  experiences,  which 
now  lies  behind  me,  I  have  almost  invariably  found 
that  God's  special  providence  favors  human  activity 
and  foresight." 

So  trusted  is  he,  and  so  necessary  to  literature  has 
he  become,  that  not  fewer  than  two  thousand  propo- 
sals from  authors  were  found  among  his  papers  at 
his  death.  And  never  does  he  issue  a  single  work 
from  his  press  without  a  fixed  belief  that  he  is  there- 
by seeking  God's  glory. 

An  interesting  incident  occurs  one  year  at  the 
Leipzig  book-fair,  which  illustrates  his  decisive  en- 
ergy, and  also  his  moral  weight.  A  German  book- 
seller has  published  an  immoral  book :  the  trade  are 
assembled,  to  the  number  of  two  hundred,  and 
amongst  them  the  publisher  of  the  obnoxious  book. 
After  the  other  business  has  been  transacted,  Perthes 
rises.  "  The  honor  of  our  national  book-trade,"  says 
he,  "  is  sullied  by  such  a  production ;  the  publisher 
of  such  a  work  is  a  most  dangerous  character ;  and 
every  one  of  our  shops  is  degraded  by  the  mere  sup- 
position of  circulating  it.  I  demand  that  it  be  con- 
demned in  the  name  of  the  German  book-trade,  and 
that  all  copies  of  it  on  which  we  can  lay  our  hands 
be  publicly  torn."  The  assembly  is  silent :  a  pause 
ensues :  smitten  with  a  sense  of  their  responsibility, 
they  assent  as  one  man ;  and,  the  next  day,  all  the 
copies  which  can  be  procured  are  formally  and 


FREDERICK   PBRTHES.  47 

solemnly  destroyed.  A  prosecution  follows  ;  but  the 
publisher  is  condemned,  and  Perthes  is  honorably 
acquitted. 

He  has  become  the  centre,  indeed,  of  the  whole 
book-trade  of  Germany.  "  Such  is  the  respect  ac- 
corded to  his  Christian  integrity  and  energy,"  writes 
Frommau,  one  of  the  trade,  "  that  for  many  years  he 
has  been  really,  though  always  declining  to  act  as 
President  of  our  Exchange,  the  central  point  in  all 
our  deliberations  and  decisions." 

But,  notwithstanding  this  rude  contact  with  life's 
daily  struggles,  the  fine  edge  of  his  holy  bearing  is 
not  blunted.  "  If  I  have  gladly  and  actively  used 
my  physical  energies,"  he  writes,  u  that  is  no  contra- 
diction to  my  Christianity ;  but  if  I  have  foiled  to 
sanctity  them,  and  employ  them  as  in  God's  sight, 
then  I  have  been  untrue  to  my  convictions."  Perthes 
is  a  true  man  to  the  end.  "  I  can  be  pious  in  spirit/ 
he  says,  "  and  humble  before  God  and  Jesus  Christ, 
and  at  the  same  time  be  free  and  cheerful  in  life." 
And  on  another  occasion : — "  Pray  and  work  is  the 
great  maxim  for  young  and  old.  In  the  conflict 
with  my  spiritual  foes,  the  best  method  I  find  to  be 
an  unvarying  habit  of  devoting  daily  a  certain  portion 
of  time  to  communion  with  God.  Moments  of  glow- 
ing aspiration,  and  occasional  attempts  to  command 
religious  emotions,  will  not  do." 

Old  age  is  not  freezing  his  genial  sympathies.  "  Go 
forward,"  he  writes,  encouraging  a  youthful  convert, 
whose  progress  in  the  heavenly  life  seems  arrested  by 


48  THE   MAN    OF   BUSINESS! 

contact  with  life's  daily  trifles ;  "  Go  forward  with  Lope 
and  confidence  :  this  is  the  advice  given  thee  by  an 
old  man  who  has  had  a  full  share  of  the  burden  and 
heat  of  life's  day.  We  must  ever  stand  upright,  hap- 
pen what  may  ;  and  for  this  end  we  must  cheerfully 
resign  ourselves  to  the  varied  influences  of  this  many- 
colored  life.  You  may  call  this  levity — and  you  are 
partly  right,  for  flowers  and  colors  are  but  trifles 
light  as  air  ;  but  such  levity  is  a  constituent  portion 
of  our  human  nature,  without  which  it  would  sink 
under  the  weight  of  time.  While  on  earth,  we 
must  still  play  with  earth,  and  with  that  which 
blooms  and  fades  upon  its  breast.  The  conciousness 
of  this  mortal  life  being  but  the  way  to  a  higher 
goal,  by  no  means  precludes  our  playing  with  it 
cheerfully ;  and,  indeed,  we  must  do  so,  otherwise 
our  energy  in  action  will  entirely  fail."  And  one 
of  the  many  young  men  whose  "  wheel"  he  has 
turned  in  business  writes  : — "  From  the  moment  that 
I  set  foot  upon  his  threshold,  Perthes  did  me  great 
good,  and  good  only,  and  in  the  highest  sense  proved 
himself  a  fatherly  friend.  May  his  spirit  and  his 
example  continue  to  influence  us,  and  the  course  of 
his  life  encourage  the  young  men  amongst  us  faith- 
fully to  devote  their  means  and  energies  to  the  higher 
interests  of  our  calling !" 

"  There  is  little  friendship  in  the  world,"  says 
Lord  Bacon  in  one  of  his  Essays,  "  and  least  of  all 
between  equals.  To  take  advice  of  some  few  friends," 
he  adds  "  is  ever  honorable."  Perthes  is  not  one  of 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  49 

those  isolated  beings  who,  with  a  hundred  armV 
length  friendships,  yet  move  through  the  word  soli- 
tary and  friendless.  u  When  I  reflect,"  we  find  him 
writing,  "  on  the  extent  of  my  acquaintance,  Goethe's 
words  occur  to  me,  '  The  stream  rolls  wider,  and  its 
waves  increase ;'  and  I  would  call  out  to  all  to  '  hold 
together  Avith  all  their  strength,  alike  in  the  sunshine 
and  in  the  storm.'  To  tne,  at  least,  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  let  any  go  from  me  who  once  stood  near ; 
and  of  all  the  inward  gifts  God  has  given  me,  I  am 
most  thankful  for  the  consciousness  of  constancy.  It 
has  always  been  exquisitely  painful  to  me  to  see  any 
one  who  once  was  closely  united  to  me  by  head  or 
heart  now  pass  me  coldly  by." 

"  It  is  good  discretion,"  Bacon  says  again,  "  not  to 
make  too  much  of  any  man  at  the  first,  because  one 
cannot  hold  out  that  proportion."  Perthes'  friend- 
ships are  lasting,  because  they  have  not  been  hastily 
or  lightly  formed.  "  What  you  young  people  call 
friendship,"  he  writes,  now  more  than  ever  estimating 
friendships  on  their  grave  and  serious  side,  "  will 
certainly  not  last  for  ever,  least  of  all  now-a-days  ;  its 
warmth  and  intensity  belong  not  to  the  immortal 
element  in  man,  but  to  the  fresh  feelings  of  youth. 
A  few  years  hence,  and  feelings,  opinions,  convic- 
tions, will  have  got  developed,  which  even  the  most 
intimate  friends  will  fail  to  understand.  Amongst 
older  in  en,  friendship,  except  as  it  belongs  to  mem- 
ory, consists  in  confidence  in  each  others'  earnest 
5 


50  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

striving  after  truth ;  and  this  confidence  can  outlast 
all  changes." 

Dwelling  more  abundantly  in  the  light,  he  feels,  as 
he  hastens  on  towards  the  mark,  an  almost-pain fully 
deepening  sense  of  his  un worthiness.  u  How  far," 
we  have  him  writing,  for  example,  "  beneath  our 
wishes  and  our  will  are  the  works  and  ways  even  of 
the  old  among  us !  Love  without  work,  and  work 
without  love  !  How  cold,  too,  and  weak  seems  our 
sorrow  for  sin !  and  yet,  perhaps,"  he  adds,  "  God 
sees  more  in  it  than  we  do,  and  knows  how  deep  and 
strong  and  abiding  a  sinner's  repentance  really  is." 

And  on  another  occasion  he  writes :  "  *  Be  ye  holy, 
even  as  I  am  holy.'  These  words  often  pierce  me 
through  marrow  and  bone.  Not  to  shut  our  eyes, 
through  indolence  or  despondency,  to  the  sin  re- 
maining in  us — not  to  mistake  death  for  life,  sor- 
row for  repentance,  and  imagination  for  love — not 
to  grow  weary  in  our  upward  course,  or  to  substi- 
tute wishing  for  willing — this  is  our  ceaseless  task 
here  below — a  task  impossible  without  faith,  but 
without  which  faith  is  impossible  too." 

His  solacing  joy  at  such  times  is  characteristic  of 
the  man.  "  Look,"  he  writes  to  one  similarly  exer- 
cised, "  for  comfort  to  the  epistle  to  the  Romans  :  in 
it  is  the  whole  truth  of  God,  in  as  far  as  we  need  to 
know  it  here  on  earth.  '  Fight  the  good  fight  to  the 
end' — this  is  Paul's  teaching  to  us."  And  again  :  "  I 
have  often,  very  often,  read  the  epistle  to  the  Ro- 
mans ;  it  is  the  portion  of  Scripture  which  has  most 


FREDERICK   PERTHES.  51 

impressed  me,  has  given  me  most  light,  and  most 
stablished  my  faith." 

As  he  advances  in  years,  a  simplicity  more  and 
more  childlike  gathers  on  him.  "  My  Christianity," 
says  he,  u  becomes  each  year  more  simple.  That 
not  to  love  God  is  sin,  and  that  to  love  Him  consti- 
tutes deliverance  from  sin — this,  as  infinite  truth,  as 
the  solution  of  every  problem,  has  been  transmitted 
from  the  Bible  to  my  spiritual  life.  Scientific  inquir- 
ies, and  absorption  of  the  soul  in  religious  emotion, 
are  of  themselves  little  worth.  I  learn  more  and 
more  to  discern  the  divine  wisdom,  which  has  set 
limits  to  revelation  :  all  that  we  need  for  our  happi- 
ness is  given  to  us ;  and  were  the  curtain  lifted  far- 
ther from  holy  mysteries,  men's  utter  bewilderment 
would  be  hopeless." 

Nature  and  its  scenes  of  grandeur  or  of  loveliness 
have  not  lost  their  attraction.  "  You  see,"  he  writes, 
from  a  rustic  retreat  to  which  he  has  betaken  him- 
self for  the  summer  with  his  family,  "  I  have  fled  to 
the  mountains  to  drive  away  the  consequences  of  in- 
fluenza. My  hearing  is  still  much  affected,  and  I 
have  difficulty  in  making  out  human  babble  ;  but  I 
hope  to  be  ai)le  to  hear  the  vulture  scream  and  the 
trout  splash.  If  any  thing  can  restore  my  health,  it 
will  be  life  in  the  woods.  You  know  this  place,  so  I 
need  not  speak  of  its  charms.  Every  thing  is  in  our 
favor — the  sky  blue,  the  woods  dark,  the  meadows 
green."  In  that  lovely  spot  he  spends  his  remaining 
summers — the  cottage  filled  with  a  succession  of 


52  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

guests — including  such  men  as  Tholuck,  Olshausen, 
and  De  Wette — who  repair  to  its  sunny  converse  as 
to  some  sweet  oasis.  A  visitor,  indeed,  without  a 
sense  of  natural  beauty,  rather  has  his  pity  than  his 
sympathy  ;  for  such  a  defect  he  regards  as  little  bet- 
ter than  if  his  friend  had  been  born  without  arms 
and  legs,  or  deaf  and  dumb.  But  Friedrichroda  and 
its  aged  host  are  enshrined  in  every  memory,  as  each 
new  guest  departs.  To  the  simple  country-people  of 
the  valley,  the  old  man  is  a  perfect  mystery.  "  He 
neither  burns  charcoal,"  they  will  say,  "  noi  prepares 
tar ;  why  should  he  persist  in  threading  these  long 
and  toilsome  paths  of  ours,  which  we  must  daily 
traverse  for  our  day's  work  ?"  It  is  an  eye  and  a 
heart  for  Nature  which  take  him  there.  "  O  Nature  !" 
is  his  holy  breathing  on  such  scenes — 

14  0  Nature !  whose  elysian  scenes  disclose 
His  bright  perfections,  at  whose  word  they  rose  1 

Do  thou  expand 
Thy  genuine  charms — 
That  I  may  catch  a  fire  but  rarely  known, 
May  feel  a  heart  enriched  by  what  it  pay.<s 
That  builds  its  glory  on  its  Maker's  praise." 

The  neighboring  little  town  enrols  bim  among  its 
freemen — "an  honor,"  says  he,  "which  has  given 
me  greater  pleasure  than  any  I  have  ever  received." 
And,  in  1840,  another  honor  is  conferred  on  him, 
significant  of  an  appreciation  more  weighty,  though, 
to  himself,  less  touching.  "I  could  not,"  he  wiites, 
when,  in  1840  the  University  of  Kiel  has  created 


FREDERICK   PERTHE8.  53 

him  a  Doctor  of  Philosophy,  "have  marvelled  more 
if  I  had  been  created  Vladica  of  Montenegro.  The 
learned  company  has  not  for  a  long  time  seen  such  a 
bungler  as  I  in  their  midst ;  my  Latin  is  as  rusty  as 
that  of  my  Erfurt  colleague,  Dr.  Blucher  ;  and  that 
is  saying  much."  But  the  degree  is  not  unmerited. 
"  The  faculty  has  done  well,"  writes  a  literary  friend  ; 
"  he  who  has  practised  wisdom  throughout  a  long 
career,  may  well  be  styled  Doctor  of  Philosophy 
even  though  his  Latin  be  rusty." 
5* 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

"  The  harbingers  are  come.    See,  see  their  markl" 


"  Order  to  march" — "Last  repose" — A  retrospect — Closing  year— Bun- 
sen — "  More  certain  nourishment" — Conflict — Argyll — Sufferings — 
Cowper — Hope — "  Must  be  gain" — John  Owen — Deathbed  longings 
— Parting  visit— Bible— Venerable  Bede— Councillor  Rist— A  fare- 
well —  Goethe  —  "  Light,  light !"— "  Humility,  humility  I"— Dying 
chamber  at  Gotha — Half  in  heaven — Departure. 

Now  consciously  nearing  his  heavenly  rest,  he 
grows  week  by  week  more  heaven-like.  "  I  have 
never,"  says  he,  one  day  in  1841,  to  a  friend  who  has 
been  advising  him  to  purchase  his  country  retreat, 
"  had  any  other  landed  property  than  my  travelling 
carriage  and  my  corner  in  the  church-yard ;  and,  just 
before  the  order  to  march  comes,  I  do  not  want  to 
bind  myself  down  to  any  earthly  spot."  And,  on 
another  occasion : — "  I  do  not  climb  so  high,  nor 
ramble  so  far  as  of  yore ;  preferring  the  familiar 
paths,  where  I  can  live  my  inner  life  undisturbed,  as 
becomes  a  man  of  seventy,  who  will  not  much  longer 
see  and  feel  the  beauty  of  this  earth."  And  again, 
in  the  spring  of  1842  : — "I  yearn  for  the  repose  of 
Friedrichroda ;  perhaps  it  is  there  that  the  last  re- 
pose of  all  will  be  granted  to  me — gladly  would  1 
rest  in  that  churchyard  with  its  fir-trees.  It  is  not 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  55 

my  physical  condition  which  occasions  this  yearning, 
but  I  discover  in  myself  an  increasing  indifference  to 
all  temporal  matters;  I  feel  incapable  of  effort  for 
anything  on  this  side  ;  I  want  nothing  more  here 
below." 

Friend  after  friend  is  summoned  away  from  his 
side.  Niebuhr  goes,  and  Goethe,  and  his  "  loved  and 
honored  Nicolovius."  And  his  aged  uncle,  too,  fol- 
lows. "  Thank  you,  dear  Fred,"  the  old  man  has 
written  to  him,  after  receiving  a  visit  from  him 
through  snow  and  storm  ;  "  you  love  me  now  just  as 
you  did  sixty  years  ago,  when  you  used  to  ride  upon 
my  knee."  And,  a  short  time  after,  Perthes  writes : 
— "  I  heard  yesterday  of  the  death  of  my  dear  uncle. 
Schwarzburg  is  now  to  me  desolate  ;  the  playground 
of  my  childhood  is  no  more.  The  family  is  now  dis- 
persed. So  goes  the  world  !  Who  can  suppose  that 
this  is  our  home  ?" 

Perthes  has  fought  manfully  life's  great  battle. 
u  How  strange  it  seems  to  me,"  we  find  him  writing, 
"  to  look  back  upon  my  past  life  !  Half  a  century 
ago,  I  was  an  orphan — cast  in  extreme  poverty  into 
the  world's  whirlpool,  without  information,  without 
help,  without  support,  a  forsaken  apprentice  in  a 
cold  garret,  having  to  limp  about  for  weeks  on  frozen 
feet  because  no  one  attended  to  me  but  my  poor  and 
still  dear  Frederika.  All  this  lies  like  a  dream  be- 
hind me,  now  that  I  am  at  my  journey's  end  :  my 
life  has  not  been  an  easy,  nay,  often  a  painful  one. 
To  God  be  the  praise  that  it  ends  well !" 


56  TEEE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS: 

He  is  now  entering  his  closing  year.  "  I  believe," 
he  writes  to  Chevalier  Bunsen,  "  that  my  end  is  not 
very  far  distant  My  soul  yearns  for  more  certain 
nourishment."  And  to  another  : — "  I  know  that  the 
prayer,  *  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,'  will  be  ac- 
cepted of  God."  In  January,  a  serious  illness  sud- 
denly reduces  his  strength  ;  and  though  he  rallies  for 
a  little,  his  old  energy  is  finally  gone.  Yet  his  brave 
spirit  is  not  weakened.  "  I  found  him,"  writes  a 
friend,  who  had  been  visiting  him  at  the  end  of 
March,  "  quite  unaltered  in  mind  and  heart :  he  is 
as  bright,  friendly,  and  interesting,  in  conversation, 
as  formerly.  Such  a  spirit  as  this  is  mighty  indeed. 
True,  it  has  lost  the  absolute  mastery  over  the  physi- 
cal nature;  but  still  it  can  assert  itself,  and  force 
that  nature  to  obey,  though  reluctantly,  and  but  for 
a  season.  I  was  often  surprised  to  see  that  when, 
towards  evening,  Perthes  lay  back  weary  and  worn, 
a  little  mental  stimulus  availed  to  restore  life  and 
strength  even  to  the  body." 

A  deeply-tried  sufferer,  who  has  gone  to  his  rest, 
once  said  : — "  Looking  back  on  my  past  life,  my  con- 
clusion is,  that,  want  what  I  might,  I  could  not  have 
wanted  the  afflictions."  The  same  is  the  experience 
of  Frederick  Perthes.  "  Pain  and  sorrow,"  we  find 
him  writing,  in  these  his  last  days,  to  his  son,  u  have 
done  more  for  me  than  joy  and  happiness  ever  did  : 
the  prayer  for  help  leads  to  resignation,  and  resigna- 
tion purifies  the  soul ;  but  still  the  fight  goes  on  to 
the  present  day.  Let  us  fight  to  the  last,  my  dear 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  57 

son.  If  Paul  had  to  complain  of  inward  conflict  and 
discord,  no  other  need  despair  because  he  has  to  do 
the  same." 

The  Marquis  of  Argyll,  the  night  preceding  his 
martyrdom,  said  to  those  about  him,  with  a  calm 
intrepid  voice — "  I  could  die  like  a  Roman,  but  I 
prefer  to  die  like  a  Christian."  Not  in  the  stern 
stoicism  of  a  seared  conscience,  but  in  the  strong 
faith  and  hope  of  one  consciously  reconciled,  Perthes 
advances  towards  the  "  Celestial  City."  "  God,"  he 
is  heard  whispering  in  hours  of  extreme  pain,  "  for 
His  Son's  sake,  is  very  gracious  to  me,  a  poor  sinner." 
And,  at  intervals  of  ease,  he  will  write  to  friends  little 
notes,  expressive  of  his  calm  confidence.  "  In  hope 
and  faith,"  he  writes,  for  example,  one  day,  to 
Neander,  "  I  am  joyfully  passing  over  into  the  land 
where  truth  will  be  made  clear,  and  love  pure." 
And,  another  day,  to  Dorner : — "  The  conscious- 
ness of  life  being  quite  over,  is  to  me  a  very  pecu- 
liar, and  by  no  means  depressing,  feeling;  rather, 
on  the  contrary,  exhilarating.  I  am  full  of  thank- 
fulness to  God." 

The  Bard  of  Olney,  in  one  of  his  bright  moments, 
wrote : — 

"  Hope,  with  uplifted  foot,  set  free  from  earth, 
Pants  for  the  place  of  her  ethereal  birth ; 
On  steady  wings  sails  through  the  immense  abyss, 
Plucks  amaranthine  joys  from  bowers  of  bliss, 
And  crowns  the  soul,  while  yet  a  mourner  here, 
With  wreaths  like  those  triumphant  spirits  wear. 


58  THE    MAN    OF    BUSINESS  I 

Hope,  as  an  anchor  firm  and  sure,  holds  fest 
The  Christian  vessel,  and  defies  the  blast." 

Frederick  Perthes,  amidst  the  rude  winds  of  these 
last  days,  is  anchored  firmly  by  that  holdfast.  "  Do 
not  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead,"  says  the  vet- 
eran warrior  one  day,  as  he  lies  in  his  room  sur- 
rounded by  his  children  and  grandchildren ;  "  I  know 
that  you  will  often  long  for  me,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
I  have,  indeed,  had  my  trying  days  and  hours ;  but 
God  has  ever  been  gracious  to  me.  I  die  willingly 
and  calmly  ;  and  I  am  prepared  to  die,  having  com- 
mitted myself  to  my  God  and  Father.  Here  there 
is  no  abiding  city  ;  we  needs  must  part :  death  can- 
not harm  me,  it  must  be  gain." 

"  Oh,  brother !"  said  John  Owen  on  his  death- 
bed, to  a  friend  who  had  been  alluding  to  his  great 
work  on  "  The  Glory  of  Christ,"  "  the  long-looked- 
for  day  is  come  at  last,  in  which  I  shall  see  that 
glory  in  another  manner  than  I  have  ever  yet  done,  or 
been  capable  of  doing."  The  same  is  the  death-bed 
utterance  of  Perthes.  "  The  season  of  faith,"  says 
he,  one  morning,  "  will  soon  be  over  for  me  ;  that  of 
sight  is  near :  and  yet,  how  mysterious  the  word  ! 
Sight !  I  shall  see  with  faculties  which  I  never  have 
possessed  here.  Knowing  is  not  seeing.  If  I  am  to 
see,  I  must  have  a  new  spiritual  faculty,  conferred  by 
perfect  love,  in  order  to  make  the  reception  of  perfect 
truth  possible.  Fain  would  we  question  how  this 
will  be  brought  about;  but  be  it  unto  thy  servant 
according  to  thy  word." 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  59 

A  friend  one  day  enters  his  little  cabinet,  where 
he  is  in  the  habit  of  reclining  in  his  arm-chair,  when 
able  to  leave  his  bed.  "  His  hands  were  folded,"  says 
the  visitor,  "  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  peace  and  joy 
were  spread  over  his  countenance.  I  hoped,"  he 
adds,  "  that  God  had  heard  his  prayer ;  but  it  was  not 
so — he  was  only  asleep,  and  woke  up  cheerfully." 

In  these  hours,  his  one  resting-place  is  the  Word. 
"  Hold  simply  and  firmly,"  he  will  say, "  to  that  which 
our  Lord  has  told  us :  read  again  and  again  the 
fourteenth,  fifteenth,  sixteenth,  and  seventeenth  chap- 
ters of  John ;  he  who  has  these  has  all  he  needs, 
alike  for  life  and  death."  His  two  closing  months 
are  a  kind  of  heaven  begun ;  and  the  theme  which 
chiefly  animates  him  is,  the  divine  glory  beaming  so 
brightly  in  these  divine  chapters. 

It  is  recorded  of  the  Venerable  Bede,  that  he  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  do  nothing.  During  his  last 
fifty  days,  he  translated  into  English  John's  gospel, 
saying  occasionally  to  his  amanuensis,  as  his  breathing 
was  growing  shorter — "Make  haste,  I  know  not  how 
long  I  shall  hold  out ;  my  Maker  may  take  me  away 
very  soon."  And,  one  day,  towards  the  close,  as  a 
favorite  pupil  said  to  him — "  Dear  Master,  one  sen- 
tence is  still  wanting,"  the  dying  man  replied,  "Write 
quickly,"  and,  on  the  young  man  exclaiming,  a  few 
moments  later — "  It's  finished  !"  Bede  rejoined  with 
a  tone  of  joy — "Thou  hast  well  said,  It  is  finished. 
Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Sen,  and  to  the 
Holy  Ghost" — and  expired.  Perthes  also  has  been 


60  THE   MAN    OF   BUSINESS  I 

an  unwearied  workman  for  his  God.  "  A  rich  life," 
he  says,  one  day,  "  lies  behind  me."  And,  another 
day,  a  friend  who  has  been  with  him,  writes  :  "  Perthes 
belongs  to  that  class  of  men,  with  every  thought  of 
whom  mental  and  bodily  health  is  so  intimately  con- 
nected, that  one  forgets  that  they,  too,  are  subject  to 
the  universal  law  of  decay.  And  another  fiiend, 
Schelling,  writes  :  "  It  was  so  comforting,  to  know  of 
one  in  the  world,  from  whom,  in  every  case  of  need, 
one  was  sure  of  sincere  sympathy,  loving  good-will, 
and  judicious  counsel."  And  still  another,  the  Coun- 
cillor Rist,  writes :  "  I  stretch  out  my  hand  to  say 
farewell — if,  indeed,  it  must  be  so — to  edify  myself 
by  your  courage,  faith,  and  joyful  trust  in  the  new 
birth  in  Christ.  You  have  been  much  to  us,  and 
your  memory  will  remain  to  us  most  blessed.  And 
now  farewell ;  here  is  my  hand  :  we  shall  meet  again, 
dear  Perthes!" 

When  Herbert  was  dying,  and  a  friend  was  re- 
minding him  of  his  many  acts  of  well-doing,  the  holy 
man  answered:  "They  be  good  works,  if  they  be 
sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  not  otherwise." 
Perthes  is  dying  in  the  same  meek  lowliness  of  heart. 
"  Herder  on  his  death-bed,"  he  says,  one  evening, 
"  sought  only  an  Idea ;  Goethe  exclaimed — *  Light, 
light  P  It  would  have  been  better,"  adds  Perthes, 
"  had  they  cried  out  for  love  and  humility."  And, 
another  day,  after  a  severe  conflict,  he  says, 
"  Thanks  be  to  God,  my  faith  is  firm,  and  holds  in 
death  as  in  life :  for  His  dear  Son's  sake,  God  is 


FREDERICK    PERTHES.  61 

merciful  to  me  a  sinner.  And  as  his  spirit  is  just 
winging  its  upward  flight,  weeping  friends  can  dis- 
tinguish only  these  words — "  My  Redeemer — Lord — 
forgiveness." 

It  is  a  heaven-lit  scene,  that  death-chamber  at 
Gotha.  "  When  he  folded  his  cold  hands,"  writes  his 
daughter,  who  is  there,  "  and  prayed  from  his  inmost 
soul,  we,  too,  were  constrained  to  fold  our  hands  and 
pray ;  it  was  all  so  sublime,  so  blessed,  we  felt  as 
though  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  were  with  us  in  the 
room.  As  evening  came  on,  and  lights  were  brought 
in,  a  strange  halo  seemed  to  encircle  his  brow,  as  if 
already  he  were  half  in  heaven."  "  The  last  enemy," 
writes  another  eye-witness,  "  loses  all  his  terrors  to  us, 
and  the  resurrection  appears  nearer  to  us  than  the 
death.  We  can  think  only  of  his  bliss,  not  of  our 
own  sorrow.  At  half-past  ten  in  the  evening  of 
Thursday,  May  18,  1843,  he  calmly  falls  asleep.  He 
rests  from  his  labors,  and  his  works  do  follow  him. 

"  'Tis  heaven,  all  heaven  descending  on  the  wings 
Of  the  glad  legions  of  the  King  of  kings  ; 
'Tis  more — 'tis  Grod  diffused  through  every  part, 
'Tis  God  himself  triumphant  in  his  heart." 
6 


V. 

Cju  Christian  HJo 

MRS.   MARY  WIXSLOW. 


"  To  learn  much,  to  love  much,  and  to  suffer  much,  are  the 
three  requisites  for  woman." — PROTOPLAST. 


4  Be  not  conformed  to  this  world,  but  be  ye  transformed  by 
the  renewing  of  your  mind." — Rom.  xil  2. 


"  There  is  a  fragant  blossom,  that  maketh  glad  the  garden  of  the 

heart; 

And  I  thought  some  cherub  had  planted  there  a  truant  flower  of 
Eden." 


"  LOVED  me  and  gave  Himself  for  ME  !"  That  is 
the  mainspring  of  every  earnest  life.  It  is  the  sun 
rising  on  the  soul's  dark  night,,  and  ushering  in  an 
unending  day.  The  sun  may  be  clouded  by  the 
mists  of  earth; — but  it  shines  there  bright  and 
glorious — a  sun  which  shall  never  set. 

Not  often,  in  these  days,  has  the  Church  witnessed 
a  life  more  finely  sun-lit  than  the  life  of  MRS.  WINS- 
LOW.  It  is  no  transcendental  pattern,  away  from  our 
human  sympathies ;  but  a  calm,  steady  conflict  with 
life's  stern  realities,  crowned  with  a  fitting  triumph. 

Woman  is  specially  honored  of  God.  Given  by 
Him  as  man's  complement  and  help-meet,  she  ex- 
ecutes her  mission  most  worthily  by  a  meek  and 
5* 


66  THE    CHRISTIAN   MOTHER. 

womanly  mien.  The  key  to  her  whole  being  is  her 
heart. 

"  The  world  of  the  affections  is  thy  world, 
Not  that  of  man's  ambition.    In  that  stillness 
Which  most  becomes  a  woman,  calm  and  holy 
Thou  sittest  by  the  fireside  of  the  heart, 
Feeding  its  flame." 

And  the  woman-nature  is  never  so  beautiful  as  when 
it  adorns  this  its  befitting  sphere.  The  clinging  ten- 
dril of  the  vine  is  not  intended  to  do  the  office  of 
the  sturdy  oak :  each  is  perfect  after  its  kind,  and  is 
adapted  to  its  peculiar  function.  In  like  manner 
woman  is  not  intended  for  the  work  of  the  man: 
they  are  each  adapted  to  their  peculiar  vocation. 
Never  did  any  woman  appreciate  more  correctly 
woman's  true  calling,  than  did  the  subject  of  our 
present  memoir :  she  ran  no  risk  of  perverting  the 
graceful  and  accomplished  woman  into  "  a  deficient 


CHAPTEE    I. 


"  Doubtless,  neither  star,  nor  flower, 

Hath  the  power 
Such  sweetness  to  impart : 
Only  God,  who  gives  perfumes, 
Flesh  assumes ; 
And,  with  it,  perfumes  my  heart." 


Birth— Bermuda— Wesley  and  the  burning  thatch  at  Epworth— The 
ship  of  war — The  cask  of  gunpowder — Antigua — The  hurricane — 
"Preserved  in  Christ  Jesus"— The  ball— "Is  this  all ?"— Kefugees 
— "  A  sinner"— Unhappy— Dawn  of  hope — Struggles— The  meeting- 
place — Eest. 

IT  is  in  the  island  of  Bermuda,  and  in  the  year 
1774,  that  MARY  WINSLOW  first  sees  the  light.  He 
who  snatched  the  infant  Wesley  from  the  blazing 
thatch  at  Epworth,  and  the  youthful  Joseph  from 
the  living  grave  in  Dothan,  interposes  in  her  behalf 
more  than  once  or  twice.  The  first  occasion  is,  a 
sudden  recovery  from  illness  when  about  five  years 
of  age,  after  she  has  been  given  over  by  her  father  to 
die.  But  a  more  striking  providence  follows.  Soon 
after,  she  accompanies  her  parents,  during  the  French 
war,  on  a  visit  to  England.  The  vessel  in  which 
they  sail  is  a  light  barque,  carrying  a  few  guns,  and 
but  ill  furnished  for  severe  conflict  with  the  enemy. 
On  entering  the  Channel,  and  midway  between  the 


68  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER  I 

English  and  French  coasts,  a  ship  of  war  heaves  in 
sight.  It  is  toward  night ;  and,  as  she  appears  to 
bear  down  upon  them,  the  captain  prepares  for  ac- 
tion. Mother  and  child  are  hurried  from  the  cabin 
to  what  is  thought  a  place  of  greater  safety  below. 
They  have  not  been  long  there  when  the  child  ob- 
serves a  boy  come  occasionally  to  the  place  of  their 
imprisonment,  and  with  a  large  horn  in  his  hand 
take  something  out  of  a  barrel,  having  first  fixed  a 
lighted  candle  on  its  edge  and  leaving  it  there.  Ob- 
feerving,  as  she  sits  upon  her  mother's  lap — who  is 
too  absorbed  in  anxiety  to  notice  the  circumstance 
— that  the  piece  of  candle  is  nearly  burnt  to  the 
edge — little  Mary  gets  down,  puts  out  her  hand,  and 
takes  it  away,  saying,  "  Mamma,  this  will  burn  the 
barrel."  It  is  a  cask  of  gunpowder  !  "  Had  I  not 
removed  it  at  that  moment,"  she  writes  long  after- 
wards, alluding  to  the  occasion,  "  or,  in  removing  it, 
had  a  spark  fallen  from  the  lengthened  wick,  the 
vessel  and  all  on  board  must  instantly  have  been 
blown  to  atoms."  Under  cover  of  night,  the  vessel 
passes  the  man  of  war;  and  thus  another  peril  is 
escaped. 

And,  on  her  return  home  across  the  ocean,  during 
a  brief  call  at  Antigua  a  fire  bursts  out  in  the  house 
where  she  is  sleeping ;  and,  in  a  few  moments  after 
the  alarm  has  been  given,  the  roof  falls  in  with  a 
fearful  crash,  and  she  barely  escapes  with  her  life. 
Some  years  afterwards,  the  vessel  in  which  she  is 
sailing  from  New  York  to  Bermuda  is  overtaken, 


MRS.   MARY   WINSLOW.  69 

when  within  an  hour  of  port,  by  a  terrific  hurricane, 
before  which  vessel  after  vessel  is  seen  to  go  down 
full  sail  into  the  yawning  waves ;  but  Mary  Winslow 
\s  again  saved.  By  these  repeated  deliverances  she 
is  (as  she  used  to  express  it)  "preserved  in  Christ 
Jesus." 

Those  who  have  been  so  preserved  are  rarely 
left  without  a  work  to  do.  Married  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  to  Captain  Winslow,  a  lineal  descendant 
of  one  of  the  pilgrim  fathers,  she  becomes  the  mother 
of  eight  sons,  whom  she  is  by  and  bye  honored  to 
train,  as  another  Monica,  for  her  Master's  service. 

That  service  she  has  not  herself  yet  entered.  One 
night,  returning  from  a  ball,  where  she  has  been  "  at 
the  very  zenith  of  earthly  happiness,''  the  thought 
occurs  to  her,  as  she  lies  sleepless  on  her  pillow — 
"  Is  this  all  ?"  Her  heart  is  empty — she  has  grasped 
a  phantom — and  from  that  hour  she  finds  no  rest  till 
she  finds  it  at  the  feet  of  Jesus. 

Various  expedients  are  attempted,  to  fill  the  vacant 
heart.  Ashamed  to  own  herself  unhappy,  "  even  to 
her  dearest  friend,"  she  turns  from  gaiety  to  "  domes- 
tic enjoyment,"  seeking  peace  of  mind  there.  And 
if  a  promising  family,  ample  means,  and  a  beautiful 
home  could  have  given  it,  the  treasure  would  not 
have  been  sought  in  vain.  But  "  still,"  she  says,  "  I 
was  unhappy ;  I  was  a  sinner — and  this  secret 
conviction  beclouded  every  prospect  and  embittered 
every  cup." 

Years  pass  OD,  and  the  void  is  not  filled.     Having 


70  THE  CHRISTIAN  MOTHER: 

retired  to  a  rustic  retreat  in  Essex,  she  devotes  her- 
self, in  the  intervals  of  domestic  cares,  to  reading. 
But  she  is  not  happy.  The  barbed  arrow  is  in  her 
conscience ;  and  the  hand  has  not  reached  her, 
which  alone  can  pluck  it  out.  "  My  mind  was  rest- 
less," she  writes :  "  my  soul  wanted  what  earth  could 
not  supply.  And  yet  I  could  not  describe  to  any 
one  what  I  needed  or  what  I  felt.  I  was  unhappy, 
at  times  miserable ;  my  weary  soul  thirsting  for  what 
it  had  not — and  yet  I  could  not  answer  myself  and 
say  what  that  one  thing  was." 

She  next  removes  to  London,  her  husband  fondly 
fancying  that  its  bustle  and  excitement  may  heal  the 
wounded  spirit.  The  change  of  residence  is  pleasant 
to  her :  she  is  thrown  more  among  friends  ;  and  for 
a  while  her  mind  is  diverted  from  its  gloom.  But 
He  who  leads  His  own  by  a  way  which  they  know 
not,  now  brings  her  to  the  place  of  rest.  There  has 
lately  entered  a  neighboring  pulpit  a  holy  man  of 
God,  from  whose  lips  she  is  to  hear,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  the  message  of  great  joy.  Eagerly  she 
listens,  drinking  in  every  word !  After  having  in 
vain  endeavored  to  save  herself,  her  work  always  fall- 
ing short,  and  leaving  her  as  poor  and  miserable  as 
ever — she  now  learns  for  the  first  time  that  she  may 
be  saved  by  the  work  of  another — the  work  of  Jesus 
Christ.  On  one  occasion,  the  preacher  picturing  her 
own  very  state  at  that  moment,  adds  most  solemnly  : 
— "  If  there  is  such  an  individual  present,  I  will 
pledge  my  soul  for  it  that  that  individual  is  in  the 


MRS.    MARY    WINSLOW.  l 

way  to  Christ."  She  thinks,  if  this  be  true,  she 
may,  after  all,  be  saved.  Kepairing  to  her  Bible,  and 
searching  it  again  and  again,  she  is  arrested  by  the 
passage — "  By  grace  are  ye  saved  through  faith,  and 
that  not  of  yourselves,  it  is  the  gift  of  God."  But, 
not  long  after,  she  reads  in  the  Epistle  of  James  that 
we  are  "justified  by  works ;"  and  immediately  her 
heart  sinks  within  her,  for  she  feels  she  has  no  works, 
and  can  do  none  pleasing  and  acceptable  to  God. 
And  yet  in  the  Epistles  of  Paul  she  reads  that  we 
are  "justified  by  faith."  There  seems  a  contra- 
diction. Her  anxious  mind  can  find  no  rest :  though, 
animated  by  that  ray  of  hope  which  has  risen  upon 
her  benighted  soul,  she  continues  to  hear  the  pre- 
cious truth  as  one  hungering  and  thirsting  for  divine 
knowledge. 

One  night  watching  alone  by  the  side  of  a  sick 
child,  she  takes  her  Bible  and  searches  the  Scrip- 
tures. The  question,  "  How  can  the  sinner  be  justi- 
fied ?"  presses  heavily  on  her  mind.  If  she  can  be 
saved  by  faith  in  the  righteousness  of  another,  then 
there  is  hope  for  her ;  but  if  there  be  anything  for 
her  to  do  towards  meriting  this  salvation,  she  sees 
she  must  be  for  ever  lost.  At  last  the  words  are 
brought  to  her  mind — "  Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive." 
"  Who  is  it,"  she  asks  herself,  "  that  says  this  ?  It 
is  God.  Can  God  lie  ?  It  is  impossible.  He  must 
do  what  He  has  said."  She  falls  upon  her  knees. 
Her  petition  is  offered  in  the  simple  language  of  an 
untutored  child.  She  knows  nothing  of  Christian 


72  THE    CHRISTIAN   MOTHER. 

experience — has  heard  the  Gospel  but  a  few  times— 
and  the  only  thing  which  has  fastened  itself  upon 
her  mind  is  the  truth  that  a  poor  sinner  can  be  saved. 
Time  after  time  she  pleads  that  word,  "  Ask,  and  ye 
shall  receive."  At  length,  light  breaks  in  upon  her 
soul.  Jesus  seems  to  stand  before  her,  and  to  utter 
those  blessed  words — "I  am  thy  salvation."  She 
hails  the  glad  tidings ;  her  heart  and  soul  respond. 
Jesus  is  with  her — He  has  Himself  spoken — her  soul 
is  saved — the  grave-clothes,  in  which  she  has  been 
so  long  confined,  fall  off — her  spirit  is  free — she  rises 
from  her  knees  to  adore,  and  praise,  and  bless  His 
holy  name. 

This  is  the  finger  of  God.  "  It  was  no  vision  of 
the  bodily  senses  which  I  saw,"  she  says ;  "  but  I 
had  no  more  doubt  that  I  was  a  redeemed  and 
pardoned  sinner — that  I  had  seen  Christ,  and  held 
communion  with  him  who  died  that  I  might  live, 
than  I  had  of  my  own  existence." 


CHAPTEE    II. 


w  What  came  from  heaven,  to  heaven  by  nature  clings." 

"A  soul  redeemed  demands  a  life  of  praise; 
Hence  the  complexion  of  her  future  days." 


The  acorn  and  the  oak — A  right  start — Trials — "  An  undivided  family 
in  heaven1' — New- York — Conversions — Revivals — End  of  Gospel- 
ministry — Cecil — The  three  "ideas" — Activities  and  awakenings — 
Unbelief— Return  to  London-^-Harrington  Evans— Our  calling— 
"  Gossiping  professors" — A  poison. 

"MIGHT  not  the  man,"  asks  Vinet,  somewhere, 
"  who  holds  in  his  hand  an  acorn,  say,  '  I  hold  in  my 
hand  an  oak  ?'  Is  not  the  whole  of  a  river  in  its 
source  ?"  Just  so,  the  soul  which  has  found  a  free 
acceptance  through  the  blood  of  Christ,  may  be  said 
to  have  in  it  already  the  whole  elements  of  the  Chris- 
tian life.  Mrs.  Winslow  now  finds  herself  welcomed 
in  her  Father's  house;  and,  her  person  being  thus 
accepted,  her  whole  future  life  of  service  and  of  suf- 
fering is  transformed  into  "  a  living  sacrifice." 

"  Everything,"  she  once  said,  many  years  after- 
wards, looking  back  upon  this  turning-point  of  her 
spiritual  life,  "  depends  upon  a  right  beginning.  One 
wrong  turn  in  setting  out,  and  all  will  be  wrong  the 
whole,  of  the  way.  The  starting-point  for  the  saint 


74  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER: 

of  God  is  the  finished  work  of  Jesus — to  know  he  is 
pardoned  and  accepted  in  the  beloved  of  God  the 
Father.  He  then  can  run  the  race  with  holy  delight ; 
and,  though  he  may  necessarily  have  many  enemies 
to  contend  with,  both  from  within  and  from  without, 
yet  He  who  has  once  set  him  upon  his  feet,  and  bid 
him  go  forward,  will  watch  over  him  by  day  and  by 
night,  guide  him,  and  correct  him  when  needful,  and 
assuredly  enable  him  to  hold  out  to  the  end."  That 
starting-point  Mrs.  Winslow  has  now,  after  many  toss- 
ings  and  anxieties,  reached ;  and  seldom  has  a  race 
been  run  so  patiently  and  so  nobly. 

The  Hill  Difficulty  soon  rises  before  her.  Sud- 
denly crippled  in  her  resources  by  certain  "  disas- 
trous investments,"  and  scarcely  less  suddenly  be- 
reaved of  her  husband,  she  finds  herself  summoned 
to  a  task  such  as  few  women  could  have  mastered. 
But  with  a  strong  will,  and  with  a  heart  "  at  leisure 
from  itself,"  she  sets  her  face  steadfastly  to  the  Hill, 
and  bravely  ascends. 

"  An  undivided  family  in  heaven"  is  now  her  first 
and  her  last  aim.  It  is  during  one  of  those  remark- 
able revivals  with  which  the  land  of  the  pilgrim 
fathers  has  been  so  often  visited,  that  she  begins  to 
reap  the  earliest  fruits  of  this  longing.  There  has 
been  formed  in  New  York  a  little  circle  of  Christian 
mothers,  who  assemble  weekly  for  special  prayer  on 
behalf  of  their  families.  From  these  meetings  Mrs. 
Wiuslow  has  been  seen  to  return  not  seldom  "  with 
tearful  eyes  and  a  glowing  countenance,"  as  if  He, 


MRS.    MARY   WINSLOW.  75 

whose  fellowship  on  the  Mount  made  Moses'  face 
shine,  had  been  with  those  holy  women.  In  various 
churches,  and  in  individual  families,  a  work  of  God 
commences.  Three  of  Mrs.  Winslow's  sons — all  who 
at  the  time  reside  with  her — are  awakened  and 
brought  to  Christ.  "  Not  one  unconverted  soul,"  we 
find  her  writing,  "  is  under  my  roof.  All  love  the 
Saviour.  My  house  is  a  house  of  prayer." 

These  revivals  are  most  instructive  facts,  and  pecu- 
liarly humbling.  That  counterfeits  have  appeared 
on  the  American  soil,  with  only  the  mechanical  imi- 
tation of  the  inward  heart-work,  is  tolerably  certain. 
But  what  more  convincing  evidence  of  the  existence 
of  the  real  thing  ?  "  Several  churches,"  Mrs.  Winslow 
writes,  describing  one  of  those  scenes, "  have  partaken 
of  this  heavenly  shower.  Oh  !  it  is  a  refreshing  sea- 
son. The  Lord  is  pouring  out  His  Spirit  in  a  way  I 
never  before  saw  or  felt.  •  There  is  nothing  like  en- 
thusiasm. I  am  quite  inadequate  to  give  you  any 
just  idea  of  this  most  gracious  and  solemn  work  of 
God.  It  is  to  me  something  like  the  day  of  Pente- 
cost. I  look  back  and  see  with  such  concern  how  I 
have  loitered  on  my  way." 

Is  not  that  the  great  want  of  the  present  hour  ? 
It  is  not  philosophy  we  want  in  our  pulpits,  nor  cold 
criticism  in  our  pews — it  is  the  tongue  of  fire — 
the  pricked  heart — the  awakened  conscience.  It  is 
real,  downright  plucking  men  out  of  the  fire.  Cecil 
was  right  when,  describing  the  true  character  of  the 
Gospel-ministry,  he  wrote :  "  Hell  is  before  me,  and 


76  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER! 

thousands  of  souls  shut  up  there  in  everlasting  ago- 
nies— Jesus  Christ  stands  forth  to  save  men  from 
rushing  into  this  bottomless  abyss — He  sends  me  to 
proclaim  His  ability  and  His  love  :  I  want  no  fourth 
idea !  every  fourth  idea  is  contemptible  !  every  fourth 
idea  is  a  grand  impertinence  !" 

And  when  God  is  working  thus  in  the  public  as- 
sembly, it  sends  men  to  their  homes  and  to  their 
trades,  not  to  lay  aside  the  Sunday  religion  with  the 
Sunday  dress,  but  to  carry  it  about  with  them  as  a 
part  of  themselves.  "Everything  under  my  roof," 
writes  Mrs.  Winslow,  "  seems  to  wear  another  aspect. 
Old  things  have  passed  away,  and  all  things  have  be- 
come new.  I  can  say  of  my  children — '  Behold,  Lord, 
they  pray.'  The  things  of  God  open  upon  them  with 
deep  interest.  The  ways  of  wisdom  are  pleasant,  and 
everything  not  connected  therewith  tasteless.  Ask  and 
expect,"  she  adds,  "  great  things  from  God.  You 
cannot  ask  too  much,  when  you  ask  in  Jesus'  name ; 
and  God  cannot  give  too  much,  when  He  gives  for 
Jesus'  sake.  How  near  he  has  been  to  us  !  The 
angels  in  heaven  rejoice  over  one  sinner  that  repent- 
eth ;  and  here  are  three  to  whom  Jesus  has  given  re- 
pentance and  life  under  my  roof.  If  the  angels  re- 
joice in  heaven,  well  may  I  rejoice  on  earth." 

Are  we  here  in  England  always  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  low  standard  of  godliness  which  everywhere  pre- 
vails ?  Are  we  to  go  on  from  week  to  week,  com- 
placently resting  in  our  religious  activities,  and 
content  to  have  scarcely  any  conversions?  What 


MRS.    MARY    WINSLOW.  77 

are  we  doing  ?  Are  we  pleading  believingly  enough 
with  God  for  men  ?  and  are  we  pleading  earnestly 
enough  with  men  for  God  ?  "  How  is  it,"  we  find 

O  ' 

Mrs.  Winslow  inquiring,  years  afterwards,  "  that  we 
have  no  precious  revivals  here,  and  that  the  all-im- 
portant subject  lies  with  so  little  weight  upon  our 
hearts?  It  is  because  we  do  not  believe  the  matter- 
of-fact,  although  God  has  promised,  and  declared  the 
truth.  When  Christ  had  risen,  and  some  were  eye- 
witnesses of  the  fact,  yet,  when  they  declared  the 
blessed  truth  to  the  rest,  they  were  as  those  that 
mocked.  We  testify  that  these  things  are  so,  for  we 
have  seen  and  felt  them  ourselves.  The  doors  have 
been  shut  about  us,  and  Jesus  has  been  in  our  midst 
within,  blessing,  reviving,  and  refreshing  us — giving 
life  to  the  dead  and  speaking  comforting  words  to 
Hi  a  saints.  It  has  been  the  work  of  an  Almighty 
God,  manifesting  His  power,  and  displaying  His 
love.  Oh  1  the  mighty  power  of  prayer !  Even  the 
best  of  Christians  know  but  little  what  it  really  is." 

Returning  in  1828  to  London,  and  attaching  her- 
self to  the  church  of  that  venerable  man  of  God,  the 
late  Mr.  Harrington  Evans,  she  labors  for  souls  with 
an  earnestness  which  not  many  in  a  lukewarm  age 
can  comprehend.  "  It  is  our  duty,"  she  writes  in 
her  Diary,  "to  have  our  eyes  shut,  and  our  ears 
stopped,  to  everything  that  is  not  a  step  in  that  lad- 
der which  reaches  from  earth  to  heaven.  I  cannot 
understand  some  Christians,  and  they  do  not  under- 
stand me.  I  may  be  wrong ;  but  when  I  read — 
7* 


8  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

*  Come  out  of  the  world,  and  be  ye  separate ;  love 
not  the  world,  nor  the  things  which  are  in  the  world,' 
and  many  other  such  solemn  exhortations,  with  so 
many  exceeding  great  and  precious  promises  to  the 
overcoming  Christian — I  am  satisfied  of  the  way  a 
believer  in  Christ  should  walk,  and  have  only  to  re- 
gret I  so  often  wander  from  it  myself.  Dear  Saviour! 
keep  me  near,  very  near,  thy  blessed  self."  And  on 
another  occasion: — "Avoid  trifling,  lukewarm  pro- 
fessors. They  are  the  bane  of  the  church  of  Christ. 
If  you  can  do  them  no  good,  they  will  do  you  much 
harm."  And  again  : — "  I  wish  to  caution  you  against 
a  great  evil  in  many  churches — I  allude  to  gossiping 
professors,  who,  when  they  meet,  instead  of  talking 
of  Christ,  talk  about  almost  everything  else ; — 4  busy- 
bodies,'  who  go  from  house  to  house  speaking  things 
which  they  ought  not.  Oh,  what  a  dishonor  are 
such  to  the  cause  of  the  dear  Redeemer !  Rebuke 
such  in  gentleness  of  spirit,  and  withdraw  from 
them."  And  still  again : — "  I  am  convinced  that 
much  intercourse  with  lukewarm  professors  does 
great  injury  to  the  believer.  Oh,  avoid  such  !  Light 
and  trifling  conversation  acts  as  a  poison  to  the  life 
of  God  in  the  soul." 


CHAPTER  III. 


"  I  think  not  of  to-morrow, 

Its  trial  or  its  task ; 
But  still  with  childlike  spirit 

For  present  mercies  ask  : 
With  each  returning  morning 

I  cast  old  things  away ; 
Life's  journey  lies  before  me — 

My  prayer  is  for  to-day." 


"Company-keeping  with  Jesus" — Little  cares — The  "confidant'* — A 
trial— Evidences— How  brightened ?— Each  day— "Praise  him  for 
the  present"— Robert  Bruce— The  voice  in  the  vestry— "  Preach- 
ing in  prayer"— Unkindness— Henry  Martyn— The  best  of  all  well- 
doing—The alleys— The  cottage— A  contrast. 


CHRISTIANITY  has  been  described  as  "  a  company- 
keeping  with  Jesus."  Seldom  has  any  Christian 
more  strikingly  realized  the  idea  than  did  Mrs. 
Winslow  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  her  life. 
"  Keep  close  to  JESUS,"  we  find  her  saying.  "  Go  to 
HIM  for  all  you  need.  Tell  HIM  all  that  is  in  your 
heart.  Lay  your  case  before  Him  as  if  He  did  not 
already  know  it.  This  is.  the  sweet  simplicity  of 
faith  which  Christ  loves.  You  cannot  come  too 
often.  Bring  to  Him  your  little  cares,  as  well  as 
your  great  ones.  If  anything  is  a  trouble  to  you; 
however  small  it  may  be,  you  are  warranted,  nay 


80  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER: 

commanded,  to  take  it  to  HIM;  and  thereby  you 
glorify  his  name.  Satan  would  keep  you  away  from 
Him;  but  Christ  is  as  needful  for  you  every  step 
you  take  to  glory,  as  when  you  were  overwhelmed 
with  sorrow  under  a  sense  of  your  awful  state  as  a 
sinner  before  God."  And  elsewhere  she  writes: — 
"Be  very  cautious  to  whom  you  open  your  heart. 
Make  no  one  your  confidant  but  Jesus.  Oh  !  com- 
mune with  Him  of  all  that  is  in  your  heart.  If  you 
are  wounded,  go  and  tell  Christ — if  you  are  in  need, 
go  and  tell  Christ — the  silver  and  the  gold  are  His. 
Live  upon  Him  as  little  children  would  live  upon 
a  dear,  kind,  tender  father.  Oh !  how  happily  will 
you  then  pass  on  your  way  !" 

A  personal  example  of  this  let  us  quote.  "I 
awoke  in  the  night,"  she  writes  in  her  Diary,  July 
13th  (1828) ;  "and  a  care,  something  like  a  irial  in 
prospect,  presented  itself  to  my  mind.  I  could  not 
sleep  till  I  had  laid  it  before  the  Lord.  Almost 
directly  afterward  I  fell  asleep.  I  had  unburdened 
myself  to  Him  who  has  all  hearts  in  His  hands,  and 
my  mind  was  at  peace." 

Another  feature  of  her  Christian  life  is  to  be 
noted.  "  Never,"  she  writes,  on  one  occasion, 
"never  look  within  for  comfort.  You  will  find 
nothing  there  but  what  is  calculated  to  humble  you. 
But  look  to  JESUS.  There  is  everything  in  Him  to 
encourage  you  in  your  warfare.  Oh  !  live  upon  Him, 
out  of  yourselves."  And  on  another  occasion,  thus  : 
— "  A  mistake,  common  to  many  Christians,  is  the 


MRS.   MARY   WINSLOW.  81 

habit  of  looking  for  ever  within  for  some  evidence 
of  their  adoption ;  and,  finding  nothing  there,  they 
do  not  and  cannot  rejoice.  This  is  a  serious  defect. 
It  is  not  by  looking  within  ourselves,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  by  looking  quite  out  of  ourselves,  and 
directing  the  eye  alone  to  Christ — to  what  Christ  is, 
and  where  Christ  is — that  we  obtain  real  consola- 
tion ;  and  in  proportion  to  our  faith  in  Him,  we  not 
only  rejoice,  but  our  evidences  brighten,  and  the 
Spirit  within,  whose  office  it  is  to  glorify  Christ, 
bears  witness  with  our  spirit  that  we  are  born  of 
God." 

It  is  a  blessed  attainment  to  live  for  each  day,  and 
for  each  day  only.  We  have  grace  promised  to  bear 
present  evils,  but  none  to  bear  anticipated  ones. 
Reader !  are  you  tried  with  fears  and  anxieties  about 
the  future  ?  Lately,  a  young  person  told  the  writer 
that  such  was  her  fear  for  the  future  that  she  had 
been  tempted  again  and  again  to  take  away  her  life. 
Few  people  have  been  tried  more  deeply  than  Mrs. 
Winslow ;  and  here  is  her  judgment  about  the  way  of 
bearing  it : — "  I  do  think,  by  constantly  poring  over 
anticipated  troubles,  we  lose  the  sweet  enjoyment  of 
present  mercies  in  the  expectation  of  future  evil.  I 
pray  to  be  enabled  to  praise  Him  for  the  present, 
and  to  trust  His  love  for  all  that  is  to  come.  Lord, 
increase  my  faith,  and  let  my  joy  be  full." 

It  is  told  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Bruce,  that  on  one 
occasion  he  delayed  so  long  appearing  in  the  pulpit 
that  a  friend  went  to  the  vestry,  fearing  that  he  had 


82  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER  I 

been  taken  ill.  As  he  approached  the  door,  he  over- 
heard a  voice  as  if  of  one  engaged  in  earnest  collo- 
quy ;  and,  as  he  listened  more  attentively,  the  speaker 
was  insisting,  that,  unless  accompanied  by  Him  to 
whom  he  spoke,  he  could  not  leave  that  place.  It 
was  the  preacher  on  his  knees  before  the  Lord  ;  and 
when  that  preacher  entered  the  pulpit,  oh,  how  he 
prayed  and  preached !  Often,  often  does  Mrs.  Wins- 
low  deplore  the  absence  of  such  praying.  "This 
evening,"  we  find  her  writing  in  her  Diary,  "  attended 
a  prayer-meeting  for  the  outpouring  of  the  Spirit. 
The  fault  I  generally  perceive  with  most  prayer- 
meetings  occurred  again  to-night.  The  prayers 
were  too  long,  and  not  to  the  point,  Everything 
was  touched  upon  but  the  one  thing  we  had  agreed 
to  meet  and  pray  for.  I  do  wish  there  were  less 
preaching  in  prayer,  and  more  beseeching,  as  poor 
needy  sinners,  for  what  we  want."  And  on  another 
occasion,  writing  to  one  of  her  sons,  she  says: — 
"  You  know  my  dislike  to  preaching  in  prayer. 
Prayer  is  the  most  holy  exercise  of  the  soul,  and 
should  be  the  pure  breathings  of  the  renewed  heart 
in  humble,  earnest  petition,  a*  in  the  presence  of  a 
holy  God.  And  when  the  soul  feels  in  the  presence 
of  God,  and  loses  sight  of  the  worms  of  the  dust  who 
are  listening,  there  is  no  self-seeking  or  wish  to  pler.se 
the  ear  of  man,  but  humbly  to  get  the  blessed  ear 
of  God  Himself." 

One  of  our  most  trying  vexations  is  men's  slander- 
ous whisperings.     It  is  a  blessed  secret  of  the  hidden 


MRS.    MARY    WINSLOW.  83 

life  to  rise  triumphant  over  this  trial.  "Dost  thou 
receive,"  wrote  a  holy  man  who  lived  in  Italy  two 
centuries  ago,  "  an  injury  from  any  man  ?  There 
are  two  things  in  it — the  sin  of  him  that  does  it,  and 
the  punishment  thou  sufferest ;  the  sin  is  against  the 
will  of  God,  and  displeases  Him,  though  He  permit 
it ;  the  punishment  is  conform  to  His  will,  and  He 
wills  it  for  thy  good — wherefore  thou  oughtest  to 
receive  it  as  from  His  hand."  That  man  was  im- 
prisoned in  the  Inquisition  for  eight-and-twenty 
years ;  and  when  he  was  entering  his  dungeon  he 
smiled  pleasantly  and  serenely,  calling  it  his  "  cabi- 
net." Mrs.  Winslow  is  learning  the  same  heavenly 
lesson.  "  How  often,"  we  find  her  writing  on  one 
occasion  in  her  Diary,  "  has  an  unkind  look  or  word 
proved  a  blessing  to  my  soul !  It  has  made  me  flee 
to  Christ ;  and  there  I  have  found  no  unkindness. 
HE  has  appeared  at  such  times  more  than  to  make 
up  for  the  want  of  all  creature-love  and  created 
good."  It  was  Henry  Martyn,  if  we  remember 
rightly,  who  on  one  occasion,  taking  refuge  from 
man's  unkindness  in  the  secret  of  the  Lord's  presence, 
wrote  : — "  I  shall  never  have  to  regret  that  I  loved 
THEE  too  well." 

Foster  has  described  the  Christian's  labor  of  love 
for  Christ  as  the  best  of  all  the  well-doings  on  this 
gloomy  planet.  Mrs.  Winslow  still  counts  it  her 
joy  to  spend  and  to  be  spent  for  HIM.  "I  have 
just  returned,"  we  find  her  writing,  "  from  visiting 
the  poor  and  wretched  in  the  lanes  and  alleys  in  this 


84  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

great  town.  I  often  have  thought  that  the  Lord 
had  nothing  more  for  me  to  do ;  but  He  seems  to 
have  called  me  to  my  old  work  again,  and  it  is  one 
I  always  had,  and  still  have,  great  delight  in.  May 
He  bless  it  to  me,  and  to  the  poor  to  whom  I  am 
sent !"  And  on  another  occasion  describing  some 
work  of  the  same  kind  down  in  the  country,  she 
says : — "  I  have  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  my 
poor  pilgrim.  I  walked  softly  in,  and  found  her 
with  her  glasses  on,  attentively  reading  a  book  she 
had  upon  her  lap.  l  What  are  you  reading  ?'  I  in- 
quired. *  The  Shepherd,  ma'am ;  the  Shepherd  who 
laid  down  His  life  for  the  sheep,'  looking  up  into  my 
face  with  an  expression  of  sweet  peace  and  content. 
4 Have  you  dined?'  I  said.  'Yes.'  'What  have 
you  had  ?'  l  Boiled  milk.'  This,  I  found,  was  her 
chief  diet ;  and  oh,  how  happy  she  is !  She  says  she 
is  happier  than  the  rich  or  the  mighty  in  their  pala- 
ces ;  and  from  my  heart  I  believe  it."  And  another 
case  she  names : — "  I  went  last  evening  to  see  an 
aged  pilgrim  in  the  village.  She  abounds  in  all  the 
comforts  of  life — has  a  nice  house,  comfortable  farm, 
and  every  thing  to  make  her  happy.  But  she  is  far 
from  being  so ;  for,  although  I  believe  her  to  be  a 
child  of  God,  she  is  constantly  harassed  with  the 
idea  that  she  has  grieved  away  the  Spirit,  and  will  be 
lost  for  ever.  I  have  endeavored  to  cheer  her  up  by 
leading  her  to  look  more  to  Christ  than  to  herself. 
I  sat  with  her  last  night  for  nearly  an  hour,  and 
found  it  refreshing  to  my  soul  to  speak  of  Jesus." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

44  O  keep  me  ever  learning, 

Subdued  beneath  thy  rod ; 
Make  me  a  better  scholar, 
But  teach  me  still,  my  God!" 

United  States — Awakening — "Our  great  crime" — A  convert — "Old- 
fashioned  conversions" — The  way  of  blood — "My  confessional" — As- 
surance— Second  Advent — "  Watch  !" 

IN  1833,  Mrs.  Winslow  is  in  New  York,  on  her 
final  visit  to  the  United  States.  During  her  stay, 
another  remarkable  awakening  visits  the  churches. 
Relating  a  scene  in  one  of  the  congregations,  she 
writes  : — "  The  ministers  who  conduct  the  meetings 
seem  men  of  God,  and  preach  as  with  the  great  white 
throne  full  in  view.  The  grand  aim  in  their  preach- 
ing and  addresses  is,  to  rouse  the  sinner — to  follow 
him  in  all  his  refuges  of  lies — to  knock  from  beneath 
him  every  false  prop,  and  to  show  him,  that,  if  he 
perishes,  the  fault  is  not  God's,  but  his  own.  Next 
to  this,  their  endeavor  is  to  awaken  the  church  it- 
self to  activity  and  earnestness  in  the  cause  of  God. 
After  the  sermon,  all  who  feel  themselves  'lost  and 
undone  sinners  are  invited  to  come  forward  and  oc- 
cupy pews  in  front  of  the  pulpit.  The  praying  part 
of  the  assembly  then  cluster  round  them,  and  peti 


66  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER: 

tions  are  offered  on  their  behalf.  This  would  be  a 
new  and  strange  thing  in  England  ;  but  God  sees  fit 
to  own  it  to  the  salvation  of  many  souls.  Last  even- 
ing, I  felt  it  peculiarly  solemn — I  felt  that  God  was 
there.  Seventeen  individuals  advanced — many  young, 
some  elderly  men — deeply  concerned.  There  was  no 
excitement — no  noise  or  enthusiasm.  The  feeling 
was  deep,  silent,  solemn  as  eternity.  All  knelt  and 
followed  in  prayer." 

And,  on  the  same  occasion,  she  adds : — "  While 
the  Church  is  stirred  up  to  plead  earnestly  for  sin- 
ners, the  Lord  the  Spirit  causes  them  to  feel  their 
own  lack,  and  brings  them  to  God  in  humble  con- 
fession of  their  coldness  and  unbelief.  Unbelief 
unbelief !  oh,  this  is  our  great  crime  before  God  ! 
We  will  not  take  Him  at  His  word,  fully  believing 
all  that  He  has  promised.  Did  we  really  believe  that 
sinners  will  be  cast  into  hell,  should  we  not  be  more 
earnest  both  with  them  and  with  God,  although  we 
do  know  that  salvation  is  of  God,  and  that  He  alone 
can  save  a  sinner  ?  If  the  religion  of  Christ  is  not 
the  business  of  our  whole  life,  it  is  nothing,  and  we 
are  nothing,  and  shall  be  found  as  nothing,  or  worse 
than  nothing,  when  He  comes  to  judge  the  world." 

And,  the  following  day,  she  writes : — "  The  Lord 
is  doing  a  great  work  here  ;  whole  families  have,  in 
these  last  two  weeks,  been  translated  out  of  the 
kingdom  of  Satan  into  the  kingdom  of  God's  dear 
Son ;  and  many  more  are  inquiring  what  they  shall 
do  to  be  saved.  I  am  glad  to  be  where  Jesus  is 


MRS.    MARY   WINSLOW.  87 

passing  by.  A  young  lady  in  the  bloom  of  health 
and  beauty,  living  in  all  the  gaiety  of  the  world,  was 
brought  under  the  appalling  conviction  of  her  awful 
state  before  a  holy  God.  For  nights  she  scarcely 
knew  what  it  was  to  sleep.  A  few  days  after,  while 
she  was  in  prayer,  and  while  prayer  was  being  made 
for  her  by  the  church,  the  Lord  revealed  Himself  to 
her  soul,  and  filled  it  with  unspeakable  joy.  Her 
eyes  were  now  opened,  and  every  thing  appeared 
changed.  She  was  happy  in  the  Lord,  and  her 
countenance  was  radiant.  When  her  minister  en- 
tered the  parlor  and  extended  his  hand,  he  said,  '  I 
need  not  ask  how  it  is  with  you ;  I  see  you  have 
been  with  Jesus.'  I  must  add  that  this  young  con- 
vert, in  all  the  fervor  of  her  first  love,  went  from 
house  to  house  amongst  her  kinsfolk  and  friends,  im- 
ploring them  to  come  and  hear  the  gospel." 

And  once  again,  a  few  days  later  (to  Rev.  J.  H. 
Evans)  : — "  I  think  I  never  before  heard  such  fervent 
appeals  to  the  consciences  of  men,  so  completely  di- 
vesting them  of  all  their  refuges  of  lies,  as  I  have  this 
last  week.  How  I  do  love  old-fashioned  conversions, 
where  sinners  are  brought  to  feel  they  are  sinners, 
crying  out  under  the  conviction,  '  What  must  I  do  to 
be  saved  ?'  and  are  then  led  by  the  self-same  Spirit  to 
look  to  Jesus,  and  are  at  once  enabled  to  believe  and 
rejoice !  I  cannot  understand  this  long  process  of 
months'  and  years'  seeking,  and  seeking,  and  never 
finding,  until,  perhaps,  at  a  dying  hour.  God  is  the 
same  ?^ow  that  he  was  in  the  New  Testament  times — 


88  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER: 

Christ  is  the  same — the  Spirit  is  the  same — and  the 
sinner  is  the  same.  Oh  that  the  Lord  might  visit 
you  in  your  part  of  the  vineyard  !  Endeavor  to 
show  sinners  their  awful  condition ;  scatter  their  vain 
excuses ;  and  tell  them  they  must  repent  and  believe 
the  Gospel,  or  they  are  lost  for  ever.  They  need  not 
be  told  they  have  no  power  to  repent  and  believe : 
they  will  soon  find  they  are  powerless,  and  begin  to 
cry  for  mercy  to  Him  who  will  give  repentance,  and 
power  to  believe  too.  I  love  poor  perishing  sinners 
more  than  I  can  express.  I  have  been  very  narrow- 
hearted  and  selfish ;  and  I  hate  and  abhor  myself 
because  of  it." 

The  heart  rests  upon  Christ's  person — the  con- 
science upon  His  atoning  blood.  Mrs.  Winslow  feels, 
each  day  she  lives,  the  growing  preciousness  of  such 
a  Saviour.  "  The  way  to  God,"  we  find  her  writing 
now,  in  her  sixty-second  year,  "  has  seemed  to  me  of 
late  so  delightful — so  exactly  suited  to  a  poor  lost 
sinner— so  suited  to  me.  A  way  sprinkled  with 
atoning  blood  :  justice  and  mercy  as  a  wall  of  de- 
fence on  either  side ;  and  this  way  leading  to  such  a 
rich  treasure-house,  filled  with  all  blessing  for  time 

7  O 

and  for  eternity  !  All  is  in  Jesus — the  way  to  God, 
the  way  of  holiness,  the  way  to  glory."  And  a 
specimen  of  the  way  in  which  she  personally  applied 
this  truth  occurs  elsewhere  thus  : — "  You  may,  per- 
haps, wonder  why  confession  of  sin  should  be  the 
subject  upon  which  I  have  chiefly  written.  I  had 
just  returned,  when  I  took  up  my  pen  to  address 


MRS.    MART   WINSLOW.  89 

you,  from  my  confessional — the  throne  of  grace — so 
sweetly  refreshed  and  so  blessedly  pardoned,  that  I 
could  not  refrain  recommending  it  to  all  I  love  and 
write  to,  as  one  of  the  most  hallowed  exercises  of  the 
Christian.  I  often  repair  to  it  heavily  laden,  and 
return  as  though  nestling  beneath  the  wing  of  the 
Saviour.  If  there  is  a  cloud  between  you  and  Christ, 
rest  not  till  it  withdraws.  Go  again  and  again, 
should  there  be  but  a  shade,  until  it  is  put  away  and 
you  see  Him  who  loves  you." 

Like  not  a  few  Christians  of  the  present  day,  Mrs. 
Winslow  has  not  hitherto  had  her  thoughts  directed 
to  the  Lord's  Second  Coming.  About  the  year  1840, 
however,  she  is  led  into  this  truth.  "  I  grieve,"  she 
writes,  "  that  I  have  so  long  neglected  to  search  into 
this  glorious  subject.  As  it  opens  upon  me,  I  feel 
my  soul  led  out  in  grateful  praise  and  thanksgiving. 
Oh,  to  love  Jesus  more,  and  to  have  Him  more  in 
our  thoughts  !  How  soon  we  may  behold  Him  in 
all  His  glory,  coming  in  the  clouds  of  heaven  !  May 
the  Lord  keep  us  watching  and  waiting,  and  enable 
us  to  say,  *  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly  P  " 
8* 


CHAPTEE   V. 

"Still,  my  Master,  thou  requirest 

Service  here  'a  little  while;' 
Help  me,  then,  to  work  with  patience, 
Cheer  me  by  thy  love  and  smile." 

Instinct  of  advancing  years-A  little  child-A  bereavement-"  Clap 
his  glad  wings"-The  promise  and  the  precept-A  temptation-Fos- 
ter-Not  faint-A  pattern-"  Only  two"-"  Love  turns  the  wheel."' 

IT  is  an  instinct  of  advancing  years  to  return  to 
the  scenes  and  associations  of  youth  and  of  childhood. 
In  like  manner,  the  instinct  of  the  maturing  Chris- 
tian leads  him  back  with  a  freshening  zest  to  the 
simplicities  of  his  first  love.  «  Who  can  subdue  sin 
in  us  but  Jesus  ?"  writes  our  venerable  friend.  "  I 
might  as  well  attempt  to  remove  mountains  as  to 
reason  away  one  corruption  of  my  fallen  nature.  But 
if  we,  the  moment  we  detect  it,  carry  it  to  Jesus,  He 
will  do  it  all  for  us.  This  is  one  of  the  most  difficult 
lessons  to  learn  in  the  school  of  Christ.  I  am  but 
just  beginning  to  learn  it;  and  therefore  I  am  placed 
in  the  youngest  class,  travelling  to  Jesus  more  as 
little  helpless  child,  for  Him  to  do  all  for  me  and 
all  in  me.  My  fancied  strength  is  all  vanished,  my 
boasted  reason  turned  into  folly ;  and  now,  thus  liv- 
ing on  Christ  in  childlike  simplicity,  my  peace,  joy 


MRS.    MARY    WINSLOW.  91 

and  consolation  are  past  expression."  And,  on  an- 
other occasion  :  "  Oh,  to  believe  that  Jesus  is  indeed 
at  the  right  hand  of  God !  on  the  resurrection  of 
Christ  depends  our  eternal  all.  Upon  that  single  and 
glorious  truth  hinges  every  other.  If  that  be  true, 
all  that  He  has  said,  all  that  He  has  promised,  and 
all  that  He  has  engaged  to  do,  is  true." 

One  of  her  sons  is  suddenly  snatched  from  her 
side,  and  she  pours  out  her  heart  thus :  "  Dear  Henry 
is  gone  home,  and  I  am  a  bereaved  mother.  He  sleeps 
in  Jesus.  And  now  thou  art  beholding  in  all  His 
glory  Him  whom  thou  didst  long  to  see  coming  in  that 
glory  in  the  clouds  of  heaven."  And  she  adds :  "  He 
was  fully  prepared  for  the  change,  and  was  more  fit- 
ted for  heaven  than  for  earth.  The  world  seemed  to 
have  no  charms  for  him.  It  had  lost  its  hold  for  a 
long  period.  He  was  living  in  full  expectation  of 
Christ's  coming,  and  now  he  is  with  Him  whom  he 
so  ardently  desired  to  see.  Day  and  night  he  was 
looking  for  Him,  as  if  '  hastening  unto  the  coming  of 
the  Lord  ;  so  that  Christ  was  in  all  his  thoughts. 
When  he  had  to  grapple  with  the  '  last  enemy,'  he 
feared  not  death,  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  l  longed 
to  clap  his  glad  wings,  and  fly  to  Jesus.'  This  afflic- 
tion has  wafted  me  closer  to  my  happy  home.  Oh, 
to  realize  it  fully,  even  here  !" 

Grace  in  the  heart  always  bears  the  fruit  of  hon- 
est dealing ;  and  if  ever  it  be  accompanied  with  any 
crookedness  of  way,  it  is  because  that  man  has,  not 
too  much  grace,  but  too  little.  "Remember,"  we 


92  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER: 

have  Mrs.  Winslow  saying  on  one  occasion  to  her 
son,  who  is  practising  at  the  bar,  "  that  to  walk  in 
the  precept  is  the  way  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  the 
promise.  We  must  not  expect  the  comfort  of  the 
one  without  the  observance  of  tbe  other.  Rather  than 
incur  debt,  exercise  the  most  rigid  self-denial.  Go  not 
against  God,  and  God  will  be  for  you.  None  ever 
disobey  Him  but  are  sure  to  pay  the  penalty  of  disobe- 
dience. I  speak  now  of  His  own  children.  Never  un- 
dertake a  cause  without  kneeling  down  and  asking  the 
Lord  for  wisdom  and  grace.  If  Solomon  felt  it  needful 
to  do  this,  well  may  you.  Christ  says,  *  Without  me 
ye  can  do  nothing.'  Be  not  fearful  you  will  lose  your 
cause  by  so  doing ;  but  only  trust  your  case  in  the 
Lord's  hands,  and,  if  a  just  one,  He  will  prosper 
you.  Walk  in  His  fear,  and  you  need  fear  nothing 
else." 

Reader !  are  you  ready  to  faint  under  the  yoke  ? 
Is  Satan  tempting  you  at  this  moment  to  grow 
"  weary  in  well-doing  ?"  "  Look  up  to  heaven,"  says 
Foster,  "  and  see  the  beams  of  the  Divine  compla- 
cency !  I  obtain  little  of  human  favor  to  animate  me 
in  my  work  ;  well,  but  God  is  pleased.  I  accomplish 
too  little  by  all  my  efforts — but  He  does  not  '  despise 
small  things.'  Do  you  say, 1 1  have  not  resolution  and 
patience  to  go  on  ?'  What !  not  to  please  God  ?"  And, 
appealing  to  the  instance  of  the  Master,  he  adds  : — 
"  Think  of  His  appointed  work,  the  greatest  that  ever 
was  to  be  done  on  earth.  If  He  had  been  '  wearied,' 
and  left  but  one  thing  undone  !  If  He  had  shrunk 


MRS.   MARY   WINSLOW.  93 

and  failed,  what  sensation  in  heaven — hell — earth  ! 
Let  His  followers  advert  to  that,  when  tempted  to 
shrink  from  service,  and  to  say  it  is  too  much.  When 
this  repugnance  arises,  go  and  look  at  Him  !  Even 
imagine  that  any  given  Christian  service  had  been  to 
be  performed  in  His  presence — under  His  inspiration 
— would  you  then  be  weary  ?  He  is  the  grand  trans- 
cendant  example,  to  show  that  a  good  work  must  be 
gone  through  with  :  to  constitute  it  such,  the  conclu- 
sion is  indispensable.  *  He  that  endureth  to  the  end 
shall  be  saved.'  '  He  that  looketh  back  is  not  fit  for 
the  kingdom  of  God.' "  And  Mrs.  Winslow,  herself 
now  far  on  in  the  "  course,"  summons  a  fainting  fel- 
low-pilgrim to  new  faith,  and  new  energy,  and  new 
patience,  thus :  "  And  so  you  are  discouraged  ?  Trials 
and  difficulties  many ;  faith  tried ;  and  only  three 
met.  Did  you  expect  to  undertake  a  work  for  Christ 
and  get  on  smoothly,  while  there  is  every  thing  within 
and  without  to  oppose  it  ?  Did  you  expect  faith  would 
not  be  tried  in  this  matter  ?  In  a  country-place  in 
America,  a  few  Christian  females  engaged  to  meet  to 
pray  for  a  blessing  on  their  families  ;  but  after  a  while 
it  declined,  and  continued  to  do  so  until  only  two  came. 
4  Shall  we  give  it  up  ?'  was  the  question.  They  thought 
of  God's  faithfulness  to  His  promise,  of  his  power  and 
goodness,  and  they  resolved  to  go  on.  They  met, 
these  two  only,  again  and  again.  They  pleaded  the 
promise,  and  encouraged  each  other  by  their  prayers. 
At  last  the  answer  came.  God  tried  their  faith  ;  Je- 
sus interceded,  and  it  had  not  failed.  Some  who  had 


94  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

left  them  returned  ;  others  followed ;  and  the  place 
of  prayer  was  soon  filled.  The  Lord  poured  out  His 
Spirit  on  them,  and  they  prayed  in  earnest  until  the 
blessing  was  given.  The  Church  felt  the  holy  influ- 
ence ;  their  children  at  home  began  to  inquire  what 
they  must  do  to  be  saved  ;  the  mothers  directed  them 
to  Jesus,  and  prayed  on.  God  in  very  deed  bowed 
the  heavens,  and  came  down  in  their  midst  to  bless 
them.  Dear  sister,  take  courage  and  look  up.  Ex- 
pect difficulties — expect  opposition,  even  from  your 
own  heart ;  but  you  have  the  Lord  on  your  side.  Go 
forward  in  the  strength  of  Jehovah  Jesus,  and  God 
must  and  will  bless  you." 

And  how  to  labor  on  she  indicates  in  another 
letter,  thus : — "  The  Lord  has  brought  me  here,  I 
trust,  for  some  service  He  has  for  me  to  do.  If  His 
servants,  we  ought  to  be  doing  His  work  ;  and  it  is 
so  sweet  to  work  when  love  turns  the  wheel.  It  is 
the  love  of  God  in  the  heart  that  sets  us  all  in 
motion.  I  am  persuaded  it  is  irksome  where  this 
is  not  the  case.  To  work  for  God  as  a  hireling  is 
one  thing,  and  to  work  for  Him  as  a  son  is  another." 


CHAPTEE    VI. 


"  Where  is  that  fire  which  once  descended 

On  thy  Apostles  ?    Thou  didst  then 
Keep  open  house,  richly  attended, 
Feasting  all  comers  by  twelve  chosen  men." 


Simeon — ''Collar  of  my  coat" — The  blacksmith — The  "unanswerable 
argument"  —  Baxter — "Taking  walks  above" — The  home — Grand 
Saldve — Mountain  sunshine — Child  of  the  mist — "Worth  living  for" 
—Have  God's  ear— Sin. 


ONE  day  Charles  Simeon  stood  at  the  death-bed 
of  a  brother.  "  I  am  dying,"  said  he,  grasping  his 
hand  with  deep  emotion,  "  and  you  have  never  warned 
me  of  the  state  I  was  in,  and  of  my  danger  in  ne- 
glecting the  salvation  of  my  soul."  "  Nay,  my  brother," 
answered  Simeon,  "  I  have  often  brought  it  before 
you  in  my  letters."  u  Yes,  but  that  was  not  enough. 
You  never  came  to  me — closed  the  door — and  took 
me  by  the  collar  of  my  coat,  and  told  me  I  was  un- 
converted, and  that  if  I  died  in  that  state  I  should  be 
lost."  That  scene  Mr.  Simeon  never  forgot ;  and 
oftentimes  does  Mrs.  Winslow  appeal  to  it  as  quicken- 
ing exceedingly  her  zeal  on  behalf  of  perishing  souls. 
"  Oh  !"  she  will  be  heard  saying,  as  the  great  tear  of 
tender  compassion  trembles  in  her  eye, "  who  will  warn 
— who  will  entreat  them  ?" 


96  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER  I 

And  no  dreaded  "  awkwardnesses"  hinders  the 
plainest  and  most  downright  appeals.  It  is  told 
of  a  working  man,  that  one  cold  winter  morning 
he  entered  the  forge  of  a  blacksmith,  with  whom  he 
had  held  frequent  discussions  about  the  Gospel.  The 
blacksmith  was  an  infidel ;  and  only  the  previous 
night  they  had  parted,  the  infidel  objections  an- 
swered, but  the  infidel  himself  hardened  in  heart  as 
ever.  His  friend,  on  going  home,  had,  instead  of 
going  to  bed,  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in 
prayer  for  him.  Early  in  the  morning  he  mounted 
on  one  of  the  horses  of  the  farm,  and  rode  through  a 
drifting  snow  to  the  forge.  Dismounting  at  the  door, 
he  went  up  to  his  friend,  and,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  he,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said — "  I  am  greatly 
concerned  for  your  salvation ! — I  am  greatly  con- 
cerned for  your  salvation !"  And,  with  another 
friendly  grasp,  he  left  the  forge,  remounted  his 
horse,  and  hastened  home.  "  That,"  said  the  black- 
smith, describing  the  incident,  not  long  afterwards, 
as  the  turning-point  of  his  life,  "  that  was  the  un- 
answerable argument — I  could  not  gainsay  that !" 
All  who  see  Mrs.  Winslow  feel,  in  her  earnest  heart- 
melting  appeals,  the  power  of  that  argument. 

Baxter,  in  his  "  Saints'  Rest,"  stimulating  the  soul 
to  new  attainments  in  the  heavenly  life,  gives  this 
counsel : — "  Let  thy  faith  take  hold  of  thy  heart,  and 
show  it  the  sumptuous  buildings  of  thine  eternal  hab- 
itation, and  the  glorious  ornaments  of  thy  Father's 
house,  even  the  mansions  Christ  is  preparing,  and 


MRS.    MARY   WINSLOW.  97 

the  honors  of  His  kingdom  ;  let  thy  faith  lead  thy 
heart  into  the  presence  of  God,  and  as  near  as  thou 
possibly  canst,  and  say  to  it,  *  Behold  HIM  !  Here  is 
an  object  worthy  of  thy  love  !  here  thou  shouldst 
pour  out  thy  soul  in  love  !  here  it  is  impossible  to 
love  too  much.'  This  is  HE  who  hath  loaded  thee 
with  His  benefits,  '  spread  thy  table  in  the  sight  of 
thine  enemies,  and  made  thy  cup  overflow.'  This  is 
He  whom  angels  and  saints  praise,  and  the  '  heavenly 
hosts  for  ever  magnify.'  Open  thus  his  excellences 
to  thy  heart,  till  the  holy  fire  of  love  begins  to  kindle 
in  thy  breast.  And  if  thou  feelest  thy  love  not  yet 
burn,  lead  thy  heart  further,  and  show  it  Him  who 
was  dead  and  is  alive  for  evermore.  Draw  near,  and 
behold  Him.  Dost  thou  not  hear  his  voice  ?  He 
that  bade  Thomas  come  near  and  see  the  print  of 
the  nails,  and  put  his  finger  into  His  wounds,  HE 
calls  to  thee,  saying,  *  Come  near,  and  view  the  Lord 
thy  Saviour,  and  be  not  faithless,  but  believing  : 
Peace  be  unto  thee ;  fear  not,  it  is  I.'  Look  well 
upon  Him.  Dost  thou  not  know  Him  ?  Or,  if  thou 
knowest  Him  not  by  the  face,  the  voice,  the  hands — 
thou  mayest  know  Him  by  the  heart :  that  soul- 
pitying  heart  is  His ;  it  can  be  none  but  His  ;  love 
and  compassion  are  its  certain  signatures ;  this  is  He 
who  chose  thy  life  before  His  own,  who  pleads  His 
blood  before  His  Father,  and  makes  continual  inter- 
cession for  thee.  And  is  not  here  fuel  enough  for 
love  to  feed  on  ?  Doth  not  thy  throbbing  heart  stop 
here  to  ease  itself  and,  like  Joseph,  seek  for  a  place 


98  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER  I 

to  weep  in?"  One  of  Mrs.  Winslow's  favorite  ex- 
pressions, and  not  less  special  joys,  is,  u  taking  walks 
above" — such  walks  as  Richard  Baxter  found  to  be 
his  daily  strength  and  rest.  "  Only  think  of  this," 
we  find  her  writing  (February  10,  1840)  to  a  tried 
saint :  "  Jesus  is  above,  and  is  ready  to  welcome  you 
home.  Let  us  hourly  realize  this — realize  heaven, 
with  all  its  glories.  What  rapture  to  fall  at  His  feet, 
and  to  hear  him  say,  i  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my 
Father!'  Oh,  that  the  saints  of  God  would  live 
more  in  the  anticipation  of  the  glory  that  awaits 
them  !  There  is  much  of  heaven  to  be  enjoyed 
even  on  earth."  And,  another  day,  she  says  : — "  My 
soul  seems  swallowed  up  in  God.  I  feel  heaven  so 
near,  that  I  am  almost  in  the  actual  presence.  Yes, 
Jesus  is  above.  Our  own  Joseph  lives." 

One  autumn  morning  a  traveller  left  Geneva  to  as- 
cend the  Grand  Saleve.  A  thick  mist  enveloped  the 
valley  as  he  began  the  steep  ascent  Mounting  by  a 
zigzag  path  in  the  face  of  the  hill,  he  suddenly 
emerged  into  a  brilliant  sunshine — a  sea  of  mist,  as 
smooth  as  a  chalcedony,  still  covering  all  beneath. 
The  chime  of  the  village-bells,  the  lowing  of  the 
oxen,  the  busy  hum  of  industry,  came  up  from  the 
valley,  as  if  they  were  things  of  another  sphere  ;  and 
yet  but  a  brief  moment  sufficed  to  carry  down  this 
denizen  of  this  mountain-sunshine  into  the  region  of 
mist  and  of  earnest  life.  Mrs.  Winslow's  "walks 
above"  resemble  that  morning's  ascent  into  the  Al- 
pine sunshine.  Not  sentimental  journeys  into  the 


MRS.    MARY    WINSLOW.  99 

regions  of  romance,  but  occasions  of  real  communion 
with  her  living  God — they  bring  her  down  hito  these 
scenes  of  mist,  encircled  with  a  fresh  halo  of  heavenly 
buoyancy  and  joy.  "  Oh,  may  a  view  of  the  bless- 
ings awaiting  us,"  she  writes  on  one  of  those  occa- 
sions, "  encourage  our  hearts  to  press  on  to  know 
more  and  more  of  the  power  of  Christ's  resurrection 
in  our  souls,  that  we  may  manifest  it  by  a  holy  walk 
and  conversation  before  a  gainsaying  world  !  Let  it 
be  your  chief  work,  and  occupy  your  best  thoughts. 
Look  not  behind,  but  press  forward.  Heaven  is 
worth  living  for,  and  it  is  worth  dying  for." 

Another  of  the  lessons  which  she  learns,  in  these 
"  walks  above,"  is — an  ever-freshening  confidence 
toward  the  Lord.  "When  I  go,"  she  writes,  "to 
the  throne  of  grace,  I  cannot  be  satisfied  unless  I  feel 
I  have  the  ear  of  God.  I  cannot  be  happy,  if  I  have 
not  communion  with  Him  whom  my  soul  loveth. 
Go,  under  all  circumstances,  and  tell  Him  all.  Oh, 
keep  an  open  heart  with  the  Saviour  of  sinners."  And 
again : — "  Let  us  live  more  in  holy  familiarity  with 
Jesus.  Nothing  is  too  much  beneath  His  notice.  As 
dear  old  John  Newton  says,  *  If  the  buzzing  of  a  fly 
is  an  annoyance  to  us,  it  is  our  privilege  to  carry  it 
to  Jesus.' " 

And  another  lesson  is — an  ever-deepening  hatred 
of  sin.  "  I  think  that  in  general,"  she  says,  "  we  do 
but  take  too  superficial  a  view  of  what  sin  is  in  the 
sight  of  God,  a  holy  God,  and  we  do  not  sufficiently 
examine  our  hearts  by  His  holy  law.  Such  a  view 


100  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

of  what  sin  is  would  make  us  cling  closer  to  the 
cross  of  Christ;  it  would  send  us  oftener  to  the 
atoning  blood  for  cleansing,  and  endear  to  us  the 
worth  and  preciousness  of  a  throne  of  grace.  It 
would  also  keep  us  from  being  mere  yea-and-nay 
Christians,  or  half-hearted  Christians.  A  slight,  im- 
perfect knowledge  of  what  sin  is,  leads  to  almost 
every  evil  into  which  a  Christian  is  liable  to  fall." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  Thou  teachest  by  temptation, 

By  weary  vigils  kept, 
By  deep  and  earnest  conflicts, 
By  troubled  slumbers  slept.11 


The  Egyptian  statue— Vocal  by  sun's  rays— Life-harp— " Hearsay 
Christians1'— An  "unknown  God" — The  "earthly  house"  crumbling 
—Fainting  fit—"  None  like  Jesus1'—"  Best  time11— Illness— "Not yet" 
— "  Something  more  to  learn" — Port  in  view — "  Pin  by  pin" — Heaven 
a  place—"  Deify  Christ's  humanity"— Snare. 

IT  is  fabled  of  an  Egyptian  statue,  that,  when  the 
sun  rose  upon  it,  the  strings  within  became  vocal. 
It  is  no  fable,  that  no  sooner  does  the  Sun  of  Right- 
eousness rise  on  the  statue-like  religiousness  of  the 
poor  formalist,  than  the  heart's  life-harp  is  attuned 
to  a  heavenly  melody  of  praise.  Herself  rejoicing  in 
the  happy  joys  of  the  heavenly  life,  Mrs.  Winslow 
seems  to  yearn  with  a  new  compassion  over  the  life- 
less form.  "  Oh,  how  few,"  we  have  her  writing, 
"  really  know  God !  I  meet  with  many  hearsay 
Christians,  who  have  heard  of  Jesus  with  the  hearing 
of  the  ear,  but  who  have  no  personal  acquaintance 
with  Him.  They  have  never  come  to  Christ  as  poor, 
wretched,  blind  and  naked ;  and,  therefore,  they 
know  nothing  of  that  peace  which  the  application  of 
the  atoning  blood  alone  can  impart.  They  have 
never  come  in  contact  with  Christ.  They  only  be- 


102  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER  I 

lieve  what  others  say  of  Him,  and  know  nothing  of 
a  blessed  recognition — a  oneness  and  a  holy  inter- 
course between  Jesus  and  the  poor  sinner,  saved  by 
sovereign  grace  and  everlasting  love." 

And,  on  another  occasion,  she  adds : — "  What 
communion  can  a  formalist  have  with  God  ?  He 
regularly  says  his  prayers,  but  it  is  to  an  unknown 
God.  There  is  no  response,  no  interchange  of  feel- 
ing— above  all,  of  love.  There  is  no  answer  from 
the  Lord,  no  bending  down  of  His  ear,  no  lifting  up 
of  His  countenance,  no  cheering  welcome.  And  the 
formalist  is  satisfied; — he  does  what  he  thinks  his 
duty ;  he  repeats  his  lifeless,  heartless,  meaningless 
prayers,  and  thinks  he  has  done  well ; — and  so  he 
lives  and  dies  with  a  lie  in  his  right  hand." 

The  soul's  "  dark  cottage"  is  now  crumbling  down. 
"  I  have  had  one  of  my  alarming  fainting  fits,"  she 
writes,  in  the  autumn  of  1851,  "  and  often  think  I 
may  go  off  in  one  of  them.  God  be  praised  for  all 
His  love-tokens.  These  visitations  are  nothing  more. 
The  oftener  the  gold  is  put  into  a  furnace,  the  more 
the  dross  is  consumed,  and  the  brighter  it  shines.  In 
the  trial,  we  cling  closer  to  Jesus ;  we  see  more  of 
His  loving  heart,  and  imbibe  more  of  His  lovely 
image.  We  cannot  come  into  close  contact  with 
Christ,  and  not  get  good.  Touch  but  the  hem  of 
His  garment,  and  virtue  flows."  And,  somewhat 
later : — "  I  have  been  feeble ;  but  this  I  must  expect 
according  to  the  course  of  things  in  this  changing, 
fading  world.  Oh,  to  live  upon  Jesus — to  live  for 
.  Him — and,  in  a  measure,  even  now  to  live  with  Him  I 


MRS.    MART    WINSLOW.  103 

It  is  a  narrow  road  the  followers  of  Christ  walk  ;  but 
it  is  the  footpath  He  Himself  travelled,  and  it  is  a 
great  honor  put  upon  a  follower  of  Him  to  tread  in 
the  same.  In  all  my  helplessness  I  lean  upon  Him. 
There  is  none  like  Jesus,  the  once  despised  Nazarene, 
who  trod  this  earth  in  loneliness  and  poverty,  de- 
spised and  rejected  of  men.  The  honors  of  this  poor 
world  are  not  worth  a  thought.  May  the  Lord  keep 
you  more  than  merely  satisfied ;  may  you  always 
rejoice  that  He .  has  called  you  to  take  up  a  cross  for 
Him  who  bore  so  heavy  a  one  for  you,  that  you 
may  hereafter,  after  a  little  while,  wear  a  crown  !  I 
am  increasingly  feeble.  Humanly  speaking,  I  think 
this  will  be  my  last  summer  on  earth.  Well,  be  it 
so  ;  the  Lord  knows  the  best  time,  and  He  will  take 
care  of  His  own." 

This  summer,  an  illness  seizes  her,  which  seems 
to  intimate  that  ere  very  long  the  clay-tabernacle 
.  must  be  "  dissolved."  But  a  respite  is  given.  "  '  Not 
yet !'  said  the  Saviour,"  she  writes,  September  24, 
1853  ;  "c  a  little  longer  trial  and  conflict  in  the  wil- 
derness.' I  have  something  more  to  learn  of  my 
helplessness  and  weakness.  It  is  but  a  little,  and  we 
shall  pass  away ;  all  our  sicknesses,  trials,  and  dis- 
appointments are  needful  to  fit  us  for  it.  I  have, 
through  a  long-protracted  life,  waded  through  much 
tribulation  ;  and  now  I  feel  that  I  have  not  had  one 
sorrow  amiss.  The  port  is  almost  in  view,  and  how 
pleasant  it  looks !" 

The  "  abundant  entrance"  is  not  to  be  much  longer 
delayed.      "  Shall  soon  be  with  Jesus,"  she  says,  one 


104  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

day,  about  a  week  afterwards,  as  the  port  at  last 
heaves  actually  in  view — "  shall  see  Him  face  to  face. 
Oh,  the  glorious  prospect !"  And  again  :  "  I  am  so 
happy — I  cannot  tell  how  happy  I  am  !  Not  a  ruffle, 
not  a  cloud.  I  wish  you  to  keep  my  poor  wandering 
mind  fixed  upon  that  one  blessed  truth — Cl, 
glorious  resurrection ;  for,  if  Christ  rose  again  and  is 
alive,  I  shall  certainly  rise  and  live  with  Him  for  ever." 

Another  day,  she  says  :  "  Oh,  how  graciously  the 
Lord  is  taking  down  the  tent,  pin  by  pin  !  What  an 
eventful  life  mine  has  been !  I  have  lived  much  in 
camp,  and  have  seen  the  tents  struck,  and  the  regi- 
ment move  off.  Such  is  life.  Jesus  is  all  to  my  soul. 
Oh,  how  I  realize  His  presence !  I  have  a  full  view 
of  Him  at  this  moment.  Heaven  is  a  reality.  We 
mystify  heaven ;  it  is  a  place.  There  is  a  service  in 
heaven  for  Christ.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  not  go  over 
our  eventful  lives  in  heaven  ?  I  think  we  shall." 

"  I  feel,"  she  says,  on  another  occasion,  "  that  one 
reason  why  many  real  Christians  do  not  go  on  their 
way  rejoicing,  is,  that  they  deify  the  humanity  of 
Christ.  Jesus  is  the  very  same  Jesus  now  that  He 
was  when  He  walked  the  streets  of  Jerusalem. 
Though  His  body  is  glorified,  He  is  not  altered.  His 
heart  is  still  the  same,  full  of  sympathy  and  love, 
ready  to  listen  to  all  we  have  to  say  to  Him,  and  to 
do  all  we  ask  Him  to  do,  and  in  the  best  possible 
way."  Most  weighty  words!  Jesus  is  God — very 
God ;  but  He  is  also  man — very  man  :  and  to  deify 
His  humanity,  is  to  rob  Him  of  His  chief  glor 
the  Head  of  His  body  the  Church. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

"  I  see,  by  faith,  my  holy  home  above, 

Jerusalem ! 

Adorned  so  richly,  by  my  Saviour's  love, 
With  pearl  and  gem. 

I  long  to  enter  the  eternal  gates, 

And  sin  no  more ; 

My  best  and  sweetest  praise  suspended  waits 
For  that  glad  hour. 

Then  shall  my  harp  possess  no  broken  string, 
My  song  to  mar  ; 

And  in  the  everlasting  praise  I  bring, 
No  note  shall  jar." 


William  Carey— A  "  worm"— The  mother— The  Black  River— A  strug- 
gle—"Our  sins"— The  Trinity— Sunshine— The  glory— "See  Him  as 
He  is" — "Close  intimacies  with  Jesus" — Not  a  single  cloud — "All 
real"— "A  cloudless  death"— "I  see  THEE"— Conclusion— "  First 
joy  in  heaven." 

WHEN  William  Carey  was  dying,  he  directed  that 
on  his  tomb  there  should  be  engraven  this  epitaph — 

WILLIAM  CAREY, 
BORN  1761. 
DIED 

"  A  guilty,  weak,  and  helpless  worm, 
On  thy  kind  arms  I  fall." 

Not  less  self-renouncing  is  Mrs.  Winslow.     "  I  shall 
enter  heaven/'  she  says,  on  one  of  those  closing  days, 


106  THE    CHRISTIAN   MOTHER: 

a  poor  sinner  saved  by  grace.  I  seem  to  have  done 
nothing  for  the  Lord,  who  has  done  so  much  for  me." 
Reminded  of  her  self-denying  labors,  especially  for 
her  family,  and  of  the  blessing  which  had  come  upon 
them,  she  replies  eagerly :  "  Ah  !  faithless,  faithless 
have  I  been  to  my  trust. 

"  '  Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling.' 

I  think  many  Christians  dishonor  Christ  by  refusing 
to  obey  Him.  Whatever  your  hands  find  to  do,  do 
it  with  your  might." 

Like  Christian  in  the  Black  River,  a  conflict  inter- 
venes. "  Oh,  pray  for  me,"  she  says,  at  early  dawn, 
one  morning,  u  pray  for  me  !  I  am  under  a  cloud. 
Oh,  what  a  night  of  conflict  I  have  passed — a  con- 
flict with  death,  hell,  and  the  grave !  The  enemy 
would  conquer  me,  if  he  could."  "  It  is  one  thing," 
she  proceeds,  "  to  talk  of  death  ;  it  is  quite  another 
thing,  when  it  becomes  a  reality,  to  grapple  with  it. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  speak  of  the  war  in  the  East — 
perhaps  to  plan  an  attack  upon  the  enemy ;  but  it  is 
quite  a  different  thing  to  be  in  the  heat  of  the  con- 
flict, the  mighty  foe  contending  with  you  foot  by 
foot.  Some  go  out  of  the  world  without  a  fear ;  but 
they  know  not  and  feel  not  the  magnitude  of  sin.  To 
have  one's  sins  all  in  review  before  the  mind's  eye, 
and  eternity  in  view — this  is  reality,  and  it  needs  the 
TRINITY  to  comfort  and  support  the  sinking  soul." 

But  the  sun  shines  forth  once  more.  "  The  gloom 
has  all  passed,"  is  her  joyful  exclamation,  not  long 


MRS.    MART    WINSLOW.  107 

afterwards,  "  and  I  have  a  full  view  of  the  glory 
which  awaits  me.  Oh,  the  hope  of  heaven  !  when 
shall  I  be  there  ?  To  see  Jesus,  once  a  Man  of  Sor- 
rows, now  enthroned — that  very  same  Jesus  who  was 
upon  earth,  and  who  so  often  has  spoken  words  of 
comfort  when  others  could  not  comfort !" 

Disclosing  the  secret  at  once  of  her  holy  living 
and  of  her  holy  dying,  she  whispers,  another  day,  to 
one  who  is  watching  at  her  side  : — "  Keep  close  in- 
timacies with  Jesus.  We  must  live  upon  Christ,  and 
we  must  die  upon  Christ."  And  again  : — "  Little 
faith  will  bring  the  soul  to  heaven  ;  great  faith  will 
bring  heaven  into  the  soul.  I  am  passing  away ; 
but  not  a  single  cloud  veils  Christ  from  my  view.  I 
seem  as  if  Christ  were  beckoning  me  to  come,  saying, 
1  Why  do  you  delay  ?  Come  up  hither.'  " 

The  bar  is  now  reached,  and  she  is  to  enter  her 
haven.  "  Note  this,"  she  says,  on  her  closing  morn- 
ing :  "  there  is  a  buoyancy,  a  vitality  in  the  principle 
of  the  renewed  soul,  which,  in  dying,  cannot  be  de- 
pressed. The  more  the  body  decays  and  sinks,  the 
higher  it  rises  to  its  native  heaven."  And  again  : — 
"  I  am  longing  to  depart  and  to  be  with  Christ.  All 
is  real.  I  long  to  end  this  mortal  struggle. 

" '  Jesu,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly.'  " 

Too  feeble  now  almost  to  articulate  a  word,  she 
looks  one  of  her  sons  steadily  in  the  face,  and,  lifting 
her  hand,  points  upwards.  Like  the  martyr  Ridley, 
ahe  Las  lived  so  near  heaven,  that,  now  that  she  is  dy- 


108  THE    CHRISTIAN    MOTHER. 

ing,  she  has  not  far  to  go.  Her  voice  regaining  for  a 
moment  its  strength,  she  exclaims,  calmly  and  firmly 
— "  a  cloudless  death  !  a  cloudless  death  !  a  cloudless 
death  !"  Then  a  still  interval — and,  as  life  seems 
ebbing  insensibly  away,  she  whispers — "  I  see  Thee ! 
—I  see  Thee  !— I  see  Thee  !"  "  What  do  you  see  ?" 
inquires  a  tremulous  voice.  "I  see  Thee!"  once 
more  whispers  the  expiring  saint ;  u  I  see  THEE  I'' 
A  few  moments  longer — and  she  is  with  her  LORP. 

"  "When  that  happy  era  begins, 

When,  arrayed  in  thy  glories,  I  shine, 
Nor  grieve  any  more,  by  my  sins, 
The  bosom  on  which  I  recline : 

0  then  shall  the  veil  be  removed, 

And  round  me  thy  brightness  be  poured ; 

1  shall  meet  Him  whom  absent  I  loved, 
I  shall  see  whom  unseen  I  adored." 

Such  was  this  honored  woman  in  her  life  and  ia 
her  death.  "  My  first  joy  in  heaven,"  said  she,  on 
one  of  those  last  days,  "  will  be  to  see  JESUS."  And, 
on  her  closing  evening,  she  added — "The  glory  of 
heaven  is  Christ."  Reader !  is  that  your  heaven  ? 
You  can  easily  judge,  by  this  simple  test — "  Do  you 
love  the  society  of  Jesus  NOW  ?"  If  you  do,  then 
your  heaven  is  already  begun ;  but  if  not — if  Christ 
be  an  unwelcome  guest  in  your  heart  and  in  your 
home,  the  heaven  of  the  Bible  is  no  heaven  for  you 
— you  nave  a  religion  for  time  but  no  religion  for 
eternity.  And  shall  it  be  always  so  ? 


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